


Behind A Fair Façade

by TheTeaIsAddictive



Series: I'm Afraid She's Rather Odd [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Mentions of Death, Minor Violence, Past Domestic Violence, Roommates, Scotland, and a pink hairdryer, french and english books of literary merit, weird wills to fuel the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 51,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTeaIsAddictive/pseuds/TheTeaIsAddictive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle and Adam are college roommates whose dislike soon melts into friendship - and maybe more. But Adam has a reason beyond Belle's smile for pursuing her love, to do with his parents tragic death ten years ago. And Belle has her own motives for choosing a college over a hundred miles from her beloved father. Can their friends get them to fall in love?</p><p>Alternate summary: Modern AU where the curse is in the law, the Bimbettes have<br/>characters, for some reason France has been replaced by Scotland, and everything is linked thematically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Scotland, because I know nothing about French universities.

"Honestly, Papa, I'll be fine," seventeen-year-old Belle Lecteur smiled, burdened with a neon-pink suitcase, a black hold-all that was slowly cutting permanent grooves into her palm and the silver-and-purple hiking bag her mother had bought once many, many years ago. "The campus is very friendly, the guide said - and besides, it's not like I'm leaving you forever!"

"I know, I know," her father sighed, "but still, Belle - I'll miss you."

"Oh, come on, papa, it's not that long. Only eight weeks from now to October - and then I can come back here for two weeks." Belle looked up, drinking in what was possibly the last view of her home town - the high-rise buildings, the glittering river, the castle up high on the mountain - and closed her eyes in peace. Three months ago, she would never have dreamed of leaving her father alone and journeying off to a small town in the Scottish Highlands for at least three years of university; she'd have almost gasped in horror at the thought of seeming so callous as to leave her papa. But now . . .

"That's the train," Maurice observed, blinking vigorously as if he had something in his eye.

Sure enough, the familiar purple and blue locomotive pulled up to the small station, and Belle hugged her father fiercely, three full bags be damned, before struggling into the carriage. She barely had time to stow her luggage safely away and get a seat (unfortunately _not_ one with a table) before it pulled out the station. Silently she waved at the ever-decreasing solitary figure, before discreetly wiping at her eyes. Tears would be for later, when she was alone in her dorm room.

It wasn't until an hour had passed that Belle realised she hadn't even said goodbye.

\---

Three changes, two awkward conversations and an unsatisfactory train meal later, Belle finally found herself at her destination : Dunbroch. It was a half-hour bus journey away from the university, and the furthest place Belle could go, within reason. As she lugged her cases up to the campus, which seemed to occupy the entire town, she found herself again worrying whether this was a good idea or not. It might have been better to go to the police after all - but then _he_ would have had to go to jail. Despite everything, Belle still couldn't wish that upon _him_. And besides, knowing the amount of horror stories she'd heard, they might not have even believed her.

As the path started to turn into a slight hill, Belle felt the strain on her calves and knees; they were hideously out of practice, even though she'd only taken a break for a few months. Belle was currently working as a member of the ensemble in a local production of 'Footloose', and surprisingly she'd actually made some good friends among the cast.

There was, of course, Mr Domarchy the bookseller, the first person she'd really felt friendly with since the move from Edinburgh. He had the best kind of bookshop - one that had hand-written signs with little quips on them, with a little coffee shop hidden in the centre for those who wanted to sip as they read. If you were brave enough to try one of his (always disgusting) 'new blend coffee's', it came free of charge.

The only other people Belle actually liked at the theatre group were the Gerard triplets, Celeste, Helen and Theresa. They were tall, blonde, identical seventeen-year-old's who had a ridiculous talent for dancing and a penchant for swooning over - _him_. That aside, the three of them were loyal to their friends, from what Belle had seen in school, and they weren't afraid to get in a screaming match if someone they loved was hurt. And yes, Belle was aware she was thinking about the three of them as a single unit, but it really was difficult to tell the difference between them unless you'd known them their whole lives. Still, she reflected, it wasn't like they were very close anyway. Belle and her father had lived in the village for nearly seven years, and until June she hadn't gotten so much as a hello from the triplets. They were really acquaintances, when she thought about it.

Turning around a tight corner, Belle was finally face to face with the university halls of residence.

"Wow," she murmured.

So apparently, she was staying in a castle.

\---

The imposing grey stone walls towered above her, a strong rectangular main hall the focus of the eye. Four high towers at each of the compass points spiked high into the sky, with shimmering gild covering the turrets, battlements and cornerstones. For some reason Belle was reminded of the fairy tale her mother used to read to her every night.

_Once upon a time, there lived a young prince in a shining castle . . ._

Smiling slightly at the remembrance, Belle pushed open the door with the brunt of her weight, stumbling slightly into the reception area. It was almost pitch-black, filled with dark shadows and an overarching sense of finesse.

"Hello?" Belle called out. She wandered over to the desk, which was abandoned except for a small paper sign reading 'Be Back Soon!'. "Hello - is anyone there?" She shivered, and out of habit reached up to tug on her ponytail. "Hello?"

Behind her, a door opened, spilling light into the corridor. A short, dumpy silhouette slowly marched up behind Belle, nearly silent over the carpet in pink slippers.

"AAHH!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Belle cried out as the old woman toppled over. She managed to grab her dressing gown, but unfortunately wasn't able to save the little cup of tea. It fell straight down to the floor, the greedy carpet sucking up the liquid, but luckily didn't hit either Belle or the mysterious woman.

"Oh, it's quite alright dear; I suspect I was sneaking up on you anyway," she said, a smile colouring her voice even before the light was switched back on. In the sudden brightness that followed, Belle managed to get a good look at the kind woman. She seemed old - not frail, but certainly past the prime of life, as her snow-white hair confirmed. A pink-and-purple checkered dressing gown fitted snugly over the plainer white blouse and brown trousers she wore, which caused Belle to look at her small slippered feet - pink-and-purple checkered, like the dressing gown. Her face seemed one made for smiling, and her blue eyes twinkled merrily from their hollows.

"I'm Belle - Belle Lecteur," Belle smiled, awkwardly offering her hand between her three bags. "First year here - I'm sorry again for knocking you over!"

"And again it's quite alright; just an accident, and besides there's life in these old bones yet," the woman joked. "Now then," she said, settling into the deep red computer chair behind the desk, "you'll be wanting to know where in the halls you're staying."

"Yes please," Belle smiled, carefully laying her bags on the ground in front of the desk.

"Let's see . . . I'll need your name, date of birth and major, please."

"Belle Lecteur, 25th January 1996, English."

"All righty," the woman smiled, typing into the computer, "your dorm number and roommates should be on here in a second. I'm Mrs. Potts, by the way," she added. "I run the halls - or at least, I try to! Biscuit?" A large tin was plonked on the surface, with a once-young Queen Elizabeth emblazoned on it.

"If that's alright," Belle said, rummaging for a chocolate digestive. "Is it that bad here - the halls, I mean," she asked. "I don't mind a good party, but I thought that'd be nearer the university, not out here in the middle of -"

"Nowhere?" Mrs. Potts completed, smiling at Belle's embarrassment. "I don't mind, dear, but it only really gets manic here roundabout Hogmanay and Halloween. You'll have a quiet enough time studying." The computer dinged, and the old woman's fingers flew across the keyboard again. "All right," she announced, "you're in Pod 205, sharing with Lewis Cogsworth, Jean-Paul Lumière, Babette Gillenormande and Adam Darensbourg. The pods are mixed-gender, as you can tell, and have five bedrooms leading off from a main living area and a small kitchenette. There is also the option of dining in our own facilities. You can buy your own food, but remember not to stretch beyond what you've budgeted; we would really love to help you out if you need it, but the university simply doesn't have the funds to do so every time a student under-budgets. You will be expected to clean your own rooms . . ."

Belle had stopped listening, panicked, the moment her four roommates were mentioned. _Roommates._ She knew for a fact she'd applied for a single flat - they had some free, she'd checked on the website, so why was she sharing? Going away from home for the first time ever would be hard enough without having to cater in four _other_ people, and while Mrs. Potts was friendly enough it was highly likely that most other people weren't, and maybe they'd hate her and she'd be stuck with four people that hated her for at least 9 months, and oh no oh no oh no oh -

"Belle?"

The woman's uneasy enquiry snapped Belle out of her inward spiral of panic almost immediately, causing her to reach up again for her hair, now tugging on it so hard little tendrils ripped off into her hands. _Just like the last time **he** was near you,_ she remembered against her will, and she shuddered.

"I'm - I'm sorry." Belle swallowed hard, commanding her breathing to slow, and she steadied her gaze on Mrs. Potts once again. "Is it possible you have me under a different name? Could you try searching for Katriane Lecteur instead?" She received a worried look that gave the older woman the impression of a white wrinkled raisin, but the fingers flew anyway.

"I'm sorry, child, but it looks like you're sharing. Your application did come in only a few weeks before the deadline - I expect they had trouble fitting you in." A comforting hand was laid over Belle's, and for the first time she got a smell of the old lady (sugar and peppermint, oddly enough). "I'm sure it can't be that bad, and if for some reason it is, you need to come to me and say so - that's my job!" The two of them chuckled, and Belle put her hair back into her signature ponytail.

"Well, thank you," Belle said, "you've made me feel a lot better. I'm sorry, again about - well, you know." Humming the opening number of Footloose under her breath, Belle dragged her bags up and made her way towards the lift as quietly as possible.

_I've got this feeling, that times just holdin' me down . . . I'll hit the ceiling, or else I'll tear up this town!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pods (residence halls? I don't know what to call them) are based off of the University of Westminster's website.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For French translations, see the end notes.

Adam Darensbourg lay face-up on top of his bed, mentally preparing himself for meeting his fifth and final roommate. He was already irritated that it was 10:30 PM and they still weren't here; but added to that he could hear Cogsworth babbling on to the other mature student about clocks, or candlesticks, or something like that, and the girl - Cosette or Babette, he thought she was called - was mumbling something in that annoyingly high-pitched voice she had. He was still fuming that his older cousin had followed him to university for the last three years when he'd left to get away from him - and not only that, but this year they were sharing a pod. Adam had made his feelings towards Lewis very clear the last time they had seen each other, with only the overhanging threat of the law stopping them from having an outright fistfight on the street. Ever since his parents had died and Cogsworth had been named Adam's legal guardian, an undeniable loathing had grown between the two. Adam maintained that it was Cogsworth's dismissive attitude towards his Franco-Scottish heritage that had started the rift, while the older man had always stated his cousin's rudeness and bad temper had made it clear from the start they would never get along. Whatever the original reason, it had been so deeply buried under nearly ten years worth of arguments that both Adam and Cogsworth refused to apologise to each other for the fateful snub.

Adam huffed out a lungful of air, turning his head to survey his room - and, of course, the many boxes he hadn't bothered unpacking yet. Through the small window just above a wooden IKEA desk it was possible to see the grey high-rises of the university city in the daytime, and just now an orange-yellow glow that was lumped in the centre of the landscape. Beside the window was a small, narrow wardrobe made of dark-painted plywood with interior mirror doors, and a small mirror and washbasin attached to the wall, nearly hidden behind the wardrobe completed the west side of the room. He flopped his head to the right, taking in the bedside cabinet, bookshelf and storage drawer, all made with the same fake wood material as the wardrobe. Four large boxes and two little ones were shoved into the east side of his room, nearly completely obscuring a path to the door that pudgy, short-legged Cogsworth would never be able to get through.

_So this is home, now,_ Adam thought as he curled up on his still unmade bed. He could have tidied his stuff away as soon as he arrived, except for the fact that he knew it would irritate Cogsworth. That was what he like to do in life now, he reflected. Read good books, and irritate his older cousin. He cast a quick glance at the wardrobe before pushing himself up slowly. There was one thing he had bothered to unpack, but only because it mattered infinitely more to him than books or comfort or even his anger.

It was the most precious thing he owned, and all he had left of his parents.

\---

"No, no, no, no, no, I comp _lete_ ly disagree, Dickens _cannot_ write good women!" Lewis Cogsworth, 37 years old and going back to university as a mature student both for a degree in Law and to watch over his young, irresponsible cousin, wondered briefly for a moment how he had managed to get into a heated debate with one of the other flat mates about the strengths and weaknesses of various Victorian writers. The discussion with the French man had started innocently enough, discussing the differences in architecture between Paris and Edinburgh - although come to think of it, it was a puzzle as to how they got onto that subject either . . . _But no matter,_ he thought. _Continue the line of argument!_ "Compare, for example, Nancy and Rose Maylie, from one of his most famous works, Oliver Twist! The one is interesting, captivating, innovating - the other -"

"A model of female virtue, _mon ami_." Jean-Paul Lumière, tall, thin, and worst of all, argumentative, had somehow managed to find the chink in Cogsworth's armour that would inevitably bring him crashing down in rage. The Parisian Art History major smirked in triumph, and turned back around to the hob where a small pot of hot chocolate was simmering.

"A model of female - a _model_ of female virtue, how _dare_ you suggest such a thing!" Cogsworth roared. "She's weak! Lily-livered! A quivering coward next to the outstanding strength and ferocity of -"

"Ah, excuse me, but are you Lewis Cogsworth, Jean-Paul Lumière, Babette Gillenormande and Adam Darensbourg?"

The three older students turned to see a young girl, heavily burdened with bags and a small print-out, stand half-in and half-out the door to their pod. It was obvious looking at her that if she had a good nights sleep and a severe hair-brushing, she would be considered outstanding. As it was, her beauty was almost painfully noticeable, as was her shyness.

Lumière was the first to react, smiling with sincerity as he ushered her in, saying, " _Oui_ , mademoiselle, you are in the correct room. I take it you are the fifth roommate?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding once (only once, Cogsworth noted with a strange feeling of importance), "yes, I am. My name is Belle Lecteur."

"Charmed to meet you. I am Jean-Paul, but please, call me Lumièree - everyone does," he said with a wink that somehow seemed fatherly rather than flirty. "This is Babette, _ma belle amie_ ," Lumière added, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You're French?" Belle asked, a smile creeping over her features.

" _Mais oui, mademoiselle,_ " he smiled, a look of recognition flooding over his face. " _Vous êtes également français? Où venez-vous?_ "

" _Edimbourg,_ but more recently, Galashiels," Belle replied, going back into English. "Oh, I'm sorry," she exclaimed as she caught sight of a very confused-looking Cogsworth, "I didn't catch your name."

"I am Lewis Cogsworth, third year Law degree, and it's quite alright," he said, again noting the girl's visible relief when he wasn't angry.

"And where is Adam? Unless I'm not the last person here, should he have arrived as well?" Cogsworth cast an involuntary glance back at the bedroom door; hopefully Adam was asleep and couldn't hear Belle's questions. Normally he'd be fine, but the stress of a new school year and the unfortunate computer error that roomed them together had made his temper even more unpredictable than usual, not to mention that the clause in his parents will would be approaching its deadline soon. He looked helplessly at Lumiére and Babette for help.

"Adam is here, certainly," Babette piped up for the first time since the younger woman arrived, "but, ah, _il est de mauvaise humeur_ , so it's best not to talk too much about him."

"Why not? Afraid I'll start throwing things around the room like a crazed maniac?"

All four of them spun around in guilty unison to see the subject of their discussion popping his head around the half-open bedroom door. His jaw was set tight, and a look of hatred pierced his eyes as he caught sight of Belle.

_Oh, dear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lumière asks "You're also French? Where do you come from?"
> 
> Babette says, "He has a bad temper."


	4. Chapter 4

The room was frozen in a state of tension, all five students caught in each other's gaze. Lumière's hot milk lay abandoned simmering on the hob, a small wooden spoon abandoned in the bubbling liquid. Belle's black bag was digging sharply into her hand, so hard she was sure two deep grooves would be eternally carved into her left palm. Babette's eyes were wide with fear, and she was cowering behind Lumière's arm as if the scrawny man could protect her from all evil. Cogsworth, Belle noticed, was hurriedly schooling his face into something other than guilt - _anything_ other than guilt, she imagined.

The mysterious Adam she saved for last, merely because she was afraid to look at him with fear in her eyes. He was half-in, half-out of his room by now, and it was clear he was not a man easily intimidated. He was tall - at least 6", Belle speculated - and from what she could see of the right side of his body he clearly spent a lot of time at the gym - either that, or he did a lot of physical labour. But she dismissed that theory almost immediately: there was too much pride in his bearing for him to be the kind of person to sweat all day in the sun doing hard work for low pay. His hair was unlike any she'd seen before, a reddish-blond colour worn long in a ponytail - the only other person she knew who grew his hair out like that was _him_ \- and his eyes she saved for last. Belle had hoped to sneak everything in while Adam was occupied in glaring at Babette, but with almost animalistic swiftness he turned so that she was trapped in eye contact with him. Furious expression aside, they were a bright, clear blue, like the sky. She found herself abstractly wondering if he spent all his time looking furious, and if not, what he looked like when a frown as grave as a father's judging stare wasn't masking his face.

"Well?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "What's the matter? Scared of me, are you?"

"Adam," Cogsworth muttered under his breath, "I will _not_ permit you to lose your temper at these people -"

"Will not permit me - will not _permit_ me, ha!" He bounded out of the room in three long strides and stood nose-to-nose with Cogsworth - or rather, nose-to-chest, Adam towering over the older man by several inches. "You stopped being in charge of me three years ago, _Cogsworth,_ " he spat out, "and despite what you think, I _am_ , in fact, doing something with my life, so will you kindly -"

"Why are you so angry? He's only trying to help!" The words were out of Belle's mouth before her better judgement could tuck them safely away in her mind. Adam turned the full brunt of his anger to her, a predator re choosing his prey, and she was again reminded of _him_ , the many times he'd yelled at her, screamed at her, hit her - _Focus, Lecteur, dammit!_ She straightened up, determined to give as good as she got.

"Who're you? The fifth roommate?" His eyes flashed fire, if it were possible for blue eyes to do so, and only Cogsworth's rather stout body and whatever shred of decency Adam had left stopped him marching straight up to Belle. "What took you so long? In case you hadn't noticed, it's 10:30! _Some_ of us have better things to do than wait up all night for -"

"Alright, listen here, because I am going to say this tonight once and once only," Belle interrupted, with some hidden inner anger she didn't know she possessed dictating her words and making her voice unforgiving as ice. "I have been journeying since 11 this morning, I have taken _three_ different trains to get here, and I had to walk alone through Dunbroch at night with three _very_ heavy bags, only to find out that I did not, in fact, get the single flat I wanted. I am not in the mood to get into a proper argument tonight, and as soon as I can I will be looking for a transfer, _believe_ me. So don't go losing your temper at me, because I am too tired for this right now!" Belle flicked her hair out her face, picked her bags up and stalked across the pod to the only door with a 'Welcome!' sign still on it, shutting it firmly behind her.

A brief look of astonishment, anger and indecision flickered across Adam's face, before he stalked back across to his room, slamming the door loudly.

"What just happened?" Lumière asked, an arm still in front of the frozen Babette.

"I'm not sure," Cogsworth said slowly, "but it was certainly impressive."

\---

Belle sat on her bed, exhausted. In the hour since Adam had exploded at them she had made her bed, put away her clothes, packed the bookshelf from top to bottom (and still have a massive pile of books in the storage drawer) and arranged her books perfectly on her study desk. She could still hear Cogsworth, Lumière and Babette talking outside, but their voices were lower, so she couldn't make out the exact words. Sighing, Belle opened the final bag; the silver and purple monstrosity that had belonged to her mother, which her father had packed. The first thing that greeted Belle was her favourite photo of her mother, in black and white and embraced in a silver frame. Belle was five at the time, and she was half-asleep in her mothers arms. Her mother was looking at the camera, a book in her other hand, smiling at Maurice.

"I miss you, Mamma," she whispered, swallowing hard as she brushed her mother's face with her fingertip. Her eyes started burning, and her vision blurred as Belle allowed one single tear to overflow and splash onto her only memory of Celine Lecteur. Against her will, more tears spilled out of her thickly-lashed eyes, and Belle fruitlessly tried to wipe them away. A small sob was pulled from her chest, and slowly, still crying quietly, she sank back onto her bed, pressing the picture to her chest. _He will not hear me cry,_ she chanted in her head, _he will not hear me cry._

Sobbing into her pillow, Belle slowly fell asleep, wondering whether or not she'd made a mistake when she left her father - and _him._


	5. Chapter 5

"Hello again, Mrs. Potts," Belle smiled. It was the end of her first week at the University of Inverness, and Belle found with some surprise that she actually _liked_ the freedom of campus life. The classes were fulfilling, her fellow students civil, if not always polite, and plenty of extra-curricular activities kept Belle occupied in the spare moments she wasn't studying or trying to avoid the ginger elephant in the room. She'd managed to get a job on the school newspaper as a book reviewer on grace, as the previous one had just graduated and nobody had seemed to care if a first-year replaced the senior, and after asking around a bit, she'd soon found a theatre group meeting nearby every Saturday.

Lumière and Cogsworth, she soon found, were locked in a deadly, do-or-die, love/hate relationship that meant she and Babette spent most of their time trying to get the two of them to suck it up and get on with their various flat duties - Lumière cooked, Cogsworth did the dishes, Babette hoovered the living area, Belle tackled the bathroom, and Adam did the shopping - while flattering their egos into making then think they were the better man for being so 'gracious and forgiving'. However, Cogsworth and Lumière weren't the only two who argued almost constantly. Belle found her first impression of Adam to improve no better on acquaintance, and he certainly seemed to dislike her as much as she did him. True to her word, Belle had tried the very next day to switch rooms, but it hadn't gone well.

"I'm sorry child, but unless he's being violent towards you, there's nothing we can do," Mrs. Potts had said earlier that week, sympathy colouring her eyes as she sipped at her cup of tea. "Is he? - being violent, I mean?" she had asked, fingers at the ready to type away if needed.

"No," Belle had sighed, "he's just - well - did you know that the first thing that grows in an embryo is the anus?"

"I did," Mrs. Potts said slowly.

"Well let's just say he hasn't quite developed past the stage of being a total arse."

A tense pause happened when Belle wondered with bated breath whether she had crossed a line. But suddenly, in an explosion of noise, a low, very _English-sounding_ laugh had been drawn out of the old woman, before she clapped a hand over her mouth, hissing, "Shh, Belle, don't make jokes like that, my grandson's only nine!"

"You still laughed," Belle had teased, before she noticed the time and raced towards the bus, a hasty goodbye flung over her shoulder.

Now, Mrs. Potts nodded once, absorbed in her telephone conversation. "Yes, Sir, I quite understand, but we simply do not have the funds to provide a maid service." She paused. "Well I realise it's just for _your_ son, sir, but if word gets out that there's maid service going on either everyone will want one or they'll form a mob because your son doesn't do his own laundry, sir." Chuckling to herself, Belle jogged upstairs and let herself in with the key card, only to find Lumière and Babette passionately kissing on a chair.

"Ah, _l'amour_ ," she sighed once, causing the two of them to jerk apart almost immediately. "Nobody home?" she continued, perusing the fridge for a snack.

"No," Babette said, patting her hair into place, "Cogsworth is at class and Adam is . . . _ah, quel est le mot . . . il travaille_ . . . He's working."

"Oh yeah, I've been wondering about that," Belle said, rinsing a blood-red apple. "What does he do? Does anyone know?"

"Course-wise, or job-wise?" Lumière asked, stretching cat-like until his arms were wrapped around Babette again.

"Both, I suppose," Belle replied, perching on the end of the wicker-backed dining set, before crunching into the apple.

"Well, Cogsworth doesn't know anything about what he's studying, but apparently Adam has a job at the bar in town."

"You mean the pub," Belle corrected.

"Bar, pub - same difference," Lumière scoffed, and Belle made her escape, shaking her head and laughing.

\---

"Adam, the point still stands that you only have five months until you inherit your parent's will! You _must ___be able to prove to the executor that you can fulfil the criteria left behind, or you will be left with _nothing_!" Cogsworth slammed his water down on the weathered oak bar that stood between him and his cousin, causing several patrons to turn around with disinterested curiosity. Adam's fingers tightened noticeably around the edge of the bar, but with considerable restraint he did not attempt to beat the other man up - he needed this job as it was his only source of income at the moment, and it was too early in the season to go into the city and busk.

"I don't have much right now, and I'm doing alright - what makes you think I need Mum and Dad's money?" He avoided looking directly into Cogsworth's eyes, instead taking pleasure in imagining exactly how he could batter him if they weren't in a public place.

"I don't think you understand, Adam - it's not just the money, although that is under the condition as well. They left _everything_ you could inherit to the executor's discretion; including items that may already be in your possession."

"What!?" Cogsworth missed Adam grabbing his shirt and pulling him across the bar by a hairs width, as a blind panic settled over him. They couldn't do that - they couldn't take the photographs, the old furniture, the house, even the instrument . . . could they? "That's not possible, I own those things, the executor can't take them away!" This time the other men turned around in genuine interest; it had been a while since they'd seen Adam lose his temper, and it always proved worthy if attention.

"I'm afraid she can," Cogsworth said with genuine regret. "You know as well as I do what it says - 'if he can prove he has a true heart, and receives another in return -'"

"'By his twenty-first birthday, then he shall inherit all', yes, yes I _KNOW_!" Adam yelled, slamming his hand on the many-ringed bar, his quick-fired temper dying down as suddenly as it had flamed up. "Why did they even write that - did they not think I was true of heart when they made that will?" He tugged his hair out its customary ponytail, letting it fan out over his shoulders.

"Why does anyone do anything?" Cogsworth supplied, chugging down the last of his water. "Take _my_ advice, cousin," he said, placing a fiver next to Adam's hand, "and try talking to that Belle girl. She seems nice enough, and who knows? Maybe she'll be the one who's true if heart?"

He sauntered off, the door quietly slamming behind him - if such a thing were possible - and Adam was left alone with his thoughts as a buzz of conversation filled the pub once more. _What harm can it do?_ he thought, flipping a dish towel over his shoulder. _I'll ask her out to dinner - but without Cogsworth in the room. Smug little twit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't actually a university of Inverness, mine is entirely fictional :) And this is his modern curse - the reasoning behind Adam's parents will (and, of course, their cause of death) will be explored later, but if I forget to say why, please tell me in reviews :)
> 
> The final insult Adam uses could be coarser, but as this is only a T rating I wanted to wait and see if people are alright with stronger language before I turn the pages blue :D


	6. Chapter 6

_Alright, Adam,_ he thought, _don't mess this up just now. All you need to do is ask her how she is. That's **all** you need to do._ He glanced at her, the familiar churning feeling in his gut resurfacing whenever he needed to ask something of anyone. It wasn't her beauty that caused this reaction - although she was truly stunning, her hair glossy and her eyes bright. Adam just hated the idea of making nice to her, when it was plain to everybody in the pod that Belle and Adam harboured a healthy measure of contempt towards each other. He supposed on Belle's part it was fair enough to dislike him - he had, after all, screamed at her on her first night there and done nothing to improve on his first impression in the three weeks they'd been living together. Adam, on the other hand, found it hard to remember why he had lashed out at her in the first place when she seemed genuinely nice, if bossy, stubborn and nosy. He wasn't used to retracting his judgements - after his parents died, Adam had quickly learned how to read between the lines of what people said and what they did, and judging accordingly. And now, he had to suck it up and apologise to someone.

_Great._

"Uh, Belle?"

"Yes?" she asked without looking up from her book, a scowl masking her face and cooling her voice.

"How . . ." His heart started racing. "How . . ." She was looking at him now, doing that thing where she raised only one of her eyebrows; it infuriated him, and from the look in her eyes he guessed Belle knew it. "How . . . are your classes going?"

_Oh yeah, smart move, Adam. 'How are your classes?' UGH. You sound like a dad. Or worse, **her** dad. Or **even** worse, **Cogsworth.** Idiot._

The confusion showed plainly on Belle's face as well, and slowly she answered,

"Fine." She went back to reading her book - it was hard to tell whether for class or pleasure.

_Okay Adam, you've successfully spoken to her, now ask what she's redding! Ask her. Ask her. Ask. Her. Ask. Her. Ask. Her. Ask-_

"What are you reading? Some crap by Jane Austen?" _NO. NO. NO. ALL YOU NEEDED TO DO WAS ASK WHAT SHE WAS READING, NOT INSULT HER TASTE YOU MORON!_ She glared up at him, and stood up from her chair with all the regality of a queen.

"Brontë, actually. 'Villette', if you don't mind. Although I'm not sure you would - have you even _read_ a classic?" She turned, tossed her hair over her shoulder with a quick head flip, and stalked over to her bedroom, closing the door firmly without slamming it.

" _J'ai lu les classiques, et les femmes sont beaucoup moins ennuyeux que vous!_ " Adam hissed viciously in Belle's general direction.

" _Comment ossez-vous!_ " Belle shouted, the door flying open and crashing into the wall. Her eyes flashed fire, and she marched straight up to Adam, practically spitting fire from her mouth. " _Je ne suis pas ennuyeux - vous êtes celui qui est tout à fait exaspérant!_ "

" _Vous êtes français?_ " In Adam's confusion-tainted panic, he remained speaking in French, the language he'd grown up hearing his father speak in hushed tones over the phone. When he eventually learned it, he learned the name of his fathers mistress, along with all her nicknames.

"Don't change the subject," Belle shouted, changing the language. "Why did you even ask about my book if you think I'm so annoying - why did you even talk to me?!"

Adam's jaw clenched, as he chanted in his head, _Do not hit her do not hit her do. Not. Hit. Her._ He had never been particularly violent towards anyone, but he just wanted her to shut up and stop acting so pretentious.

"I don't know why I did either, _vous salope_!" he yelled. Belle froze, horror and outrage painted on her face in a way that was almost comical if Adam hadn't been so angry. "I'm going out," he muttered, as he marched across to the door and slammed it behind him, rattling the cutlery drawer.

" _Connard_ ," Belle spat out with venom, before returning once more to her room.

\---

Cogsworth, Lumière and Babette had all been poring over their various study materials in the one bedroom while the heating was out in Cogsworth and Babette's rooms, Belle opting to grab a blanket and read alone, when they heard someone slightly stuttering through what sounded vaguely like an attempt at conversation.

"Oh no, Adam, just spit it out!" Cogsworth muttered, glaring at his brick-sized textbook just a little harder than he had a second ago.

"What is he trying to say?" Babette asked, carefully flipping over onto her stomach.

"He's attempting to be civil to Belle," Cogsworth replied.

"Why? I thought they hated each other?" Lumière shut his Musical Theory book quietly, and tiptoed over to the door.

"Well, I suppose it's no harm telling you -but you mustn't breathe a word of this to Belle, understood?" The two French people nodded in agreement, before Cogsworth sighed and continued. "Are you aware of the scandal that followed the wills of the Darensbourg's after their deaths?"

"You mean where they practically disinherited their son?" Lumière asked in a stage whisper.

"Yes, yes - well that's not quite the case. If Adam can find someone true of heart and prove that his own is true by his 21st birthday, he will inherit as usual, but if not, he'll be left with nothing."

"So what does Belle have to do with it? And why can't we tell her?" Babette stretched out, nearly knocking Cogsworth's reading glasses off his head.

"It's a legal requirement - the late Mr. and Mrs. Darensbourg thought that if the girl - or rather, _person_ , they weren't gender-specific - if the _person_ knew about the details of the will, they'd just be in it for the money."

"Fair enough," Babette shrugged, pushing herself up on the bed.

"Oh dear," Lumière said absently from his position at the door.

"What?" Cogsworth asked, finally putting his textbook to the floor.

"Adam doesn't seem to know Belle speaks French, and he just called her annoyi -"

" _Comment ossez-vous!_ " Belle's outraged voice carried easily through the flimsy walls.

"What is she saying?" Cogsworth asked, folding up his glasses.

"Uhh . . . she's annoyed he called her annoying when he is, I quote, completely infuriating."

"And let me guess, my dear cousin is spluttering about trying to understand how she understood him," Cogsworth said.

"Bingo," Lumière replied.

"I don't know why I did either, _vous salope_!"

Lumière and Babette both flinched at the insult, as Cogsworth asked, "What? What did he say at the end?"He called her a bitch," Babette said, "and she - she called him -"

"Something I do not think you would like to hear your family being called, _mon ami,_ " Lumière interrupted.

They all jumped at the two slamming doors.

"Well," Cogsworth said dourly, "that certainly went well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure just about every phrase was explained in the Lumière/Cogsworth/Babette dialogue, but if not just go to google translate :)
> 
> To clear up timelines/confusion - this is taking place in 2013, late August. Rest assured we will (eventually) get through the rest of the year!
> 
> Side note - it's important to me that Belle has definite, definable faults, so she probably won't be coming off as 'perfect' as she does in the movie :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a trigger warning for descriptions of domestic abuse (emotional) and violence. Please don't read if you feel at all uncomfortable.

Belle spent the next few weeks studiously avoiding Adam with the utmost skill - if he came into the pod, she had already disappeared into her bedroom at the sound of his feet; whenever it was his turn to cook the evening meal, Belle sneaked off to the canteen; if she saw him walking (seemingly) towards her, she would immediately change her direction. Neither of them had apologised for the fight yet, and Belle was waiting with bated breath for the fallout. Whenever she'd disagreed with _him_ in the past, he'd wait at least three days before, as ever, he made her pay.

It had started out innocently enough. He was easily the hottest boy in school, and once or twice they'd had conversations about reasonably intellectual subjects - the difficulty of their maths class, the imagery used in Shakespeare plays they studied - until eventually, he asked her out. Belle had said yes right away, pleased that for once somebody wasn't obsessed with her appearance but had actually gotten to know her, and for about two months all was well. But then her father went away for his annual stock-gathering trip, and Belle elected (secretly, of course) to stay with _him_. He was alone for the summer - his father was away lecturing in America - and Belle was lonely by herself: it only made sense for her to stay with him, he'd said. It's not like she had anywhere else to go.

It started small. Since they were so great together, why did she have to go out with her friends _every_ week? Surely they'd understand if she cut it down to once a fortnight? It only made sense, he argued, and Belle agreed - if they couldn't accept that sometimes she needed to spend more time with her boyfriend, then they clearly weren't good friends. After a while, after their first time, he mentioned he didn't like the way the other boys in her year looked at Belle when they were all out with the triplets. Maybe she should stop seeing them as often. Belle again agreed - reluctantly, as she had grown to like the three blondes, but she agreed nonetheless. She couldn't exactly do something he wouldn't like - she was staying under his roof out of the goodness of his heart! And so the mountain of things he didn't want Belle doing piled up, until she was practically a live-in member of staff, cooking for him, cleaning, terrified every minute that he might find somebody else he liked better. Until the day he crossed the last of Belle's lines.

It was Midsummers Day, and Belle had been bored in the kitchen, heating up some tomato soup, when _he_ had barged in in a mighty temper, shouting at the top of his voice about how stupid and worthless Mr. Domarchy was. "It's not his fault," Belle had murmured, quietly stirring away.

"Not his fault?" In hindsight, Belle should have known something was wrong when _he_ had said it quietly, instead of yelling at her right away. "Not his fault - Belle, you stupid bitch - EVERYTHING'S HIS FAULT!" He'd grabbed her wrists so tightly they had bruises for a week, spun her around and trapped her between the bubbling soup and his chest. "Do you think I don't care what people think of me?"

"George -" Belle had pleaded, squirming away from the hot stove, "George, let me go -"

"DO YOU?!"

"I don't, I don't George, Mr. Domarchy was wrong, it was all his fault, but please, please let me go," she had sobbed, the heat on her back nearly unbearable.

"DO YOU THINK HE WAS WRONG?!"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Domarchy was wrong, you're right, you're always right, always, now _please_ let go of me, George, please!" He abruptly released her, and Belle fell to the floor, shaking and crying.

"Where have you been getting those ideas from, Belle?" He had crouched down beside her, his pale blue eyes steel in the light of the gas stove. "Hmm? Where did you get the notion that it wasn't Domarchy's fault trapped in your pretty little head?" He dragged her to her feet, and Belle was suddenly, horribly reminded that not only was George two years older than her, he was twice her size and a lot stronger. Fear, the cold, malicious little being, filled her stomach, and she struggled against him with adrenaline-fuelled strength, trying vainly to stamp on his feet. He'd thrown her across the room, and the last thing Belle remembered before her head cracked against the mantelpiece of the old Victorian fireplace was the look on George's face.

Repulsion.

About ten minutes later, Belle had come to, lying in the ashes of previous nights fire with blood matting her hair. It was the final straw for her, the only thing she could completely justify as being Not. Okay. Scared for her life, Belle had slowly paced through the back roads to her house on the outside of town, packed a small bag, and hitchhiked to the town her father was staying in. He hadn't believed her when Belle said she had fallen over, but he hadn't pressed her either, and for that Belle truly appreciated him. She spent the rest of the summer hiding away in their house, reading old classics and looking up the furthest university from Galashiels while staying in Scotland.

So now Belle was in Dunbroch. She no longer felt terrified every time somebody lost their temper (her father tinkering with his mechanics soon stopped that), the small wound on the back of her head had healed nicely after the stitches, and she was far away from _him_ \- far away from George Castin. And now she'd gone and blown it with another short-tempered man who had the capacity to do significant damage to her.

She really was a stupid bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Heavy stuff, I know, and a little shorter than usual, but I really needed to get them to this point - back stories all explained to the audience, if not to each other - so we can start on the wow-maybe-Belle-and-Adam-don't-actually-hate-each- other part of the story. I have never experienced an abusive relationship, so all guidelines I used to form George's abuse are taken from articles seen online. About the name - I deliberately tried to get Belle and Adam similar to each other in that they are both second-generation French immigrants with mixed-nationality parents (one Scottish, one French), and that means giving most of the villagers Anglican-sounding names. So Gaston becomes George Castin. If Belle seems OOC for even going out with George in the first place, then so be it.


	8. Chapter 8

"You need to apologise to her, Adam," Cogsworth said for the fifth time that evening, twiddling his thumbs over his glass of water.

"But why should _I_ apologise - she was the one who started it by acting so high-and-mighty!" Adam growled for the fourth time that evening, perfectly aware he sounded like a child. "I can see you rolling your eyes, by the way," he added, as Cogsworth took a sip of his drink that involved tipping his head all the way back.

"I did no such thing," Cogsworth said, stroking gently at his moustache. "And besides Adam, if I've said it once I've said it a hundred times - you need to learn to control your temper!" He jumped as Adam clunked down another glass of water with particular violence, his fingers clenched so hard they were white around the edges.

"How will _that_ help me?" he spat out. "The damage is done. She thinks I'm an asshole - she said so herself!" Adam exhaled sharply, shoulders deflating with the effort, and reached up to tighten his ponytail.

"Apologise!" Cogsworth repeated. "Ask her to dinner! Maybe Lumière can help - he seems to know more about this sort of thing that _you_ do, anyway -"

"Wait, why does _Lumière_ know about this?" Adam interrupted. "I thought it was required that the woman - _person_ in question was either unaware of the criteria or didn't care about the money?"

"In case you didn't notice, dear cousin," Cogsworth smirked, "Lumière has a girlfriend. I _highly_ doubt he would be looking for another relationship right now. And besides, I had to tell them _why_ you decided to make such an idiot out of yourself with the 'Classic Novels' fiasco." He downed the water and fumbled around in his pocket for some change, ignoring the younger mans rather comical look of barely suppressed rage.

"How did you hear about that - did _she_ tell you?" _I bet she did, the little know-it-all,_ Adam thought.

" _Belle_ didn't tell us anything - she hasn't even mentioned it," Cogsworth said, looking down at Adam as much as the shorter man could. "We were in the other room." With that, Cogsworth chucked some coins on the grainy bar, hopped the (for him) considerable difference from the stool to the floor, and sauntered out.

"I'm going to kill him one of these days," Adam said to the air.

"Not in my bar, you're not," his boss snapped from behind him. "Get back to work, Darensbourg, your shift doesn't end for another hour."

\---

Belle laid her head against the shuddering window of the bus, keeping one hand clamped tightly around her bag. The dreary October sky provided little escape from the drearier thoughts Belle had been trying to shake off all day, and she found herself dreading the approach to the residence halls. No matter how many eloquent arguments she staged in her head, no matter the reasoning she used, Belle couldn't escape the fear that Adam was still holding a grudge against her for the argument they'd had the other day. She had never felt in physical fear of him after Cogsworth let slip that Adam was never physically violent unless the other party threw the first punch, but it was the smaller things Belle wasn't looking forward to. Glaring at her across the room, insulting her taste in books - the sort of thing that made it particularly unpleasant to live with someone.

The bus braked to a halt, slowly, then all at once, and Belle swung her bag up, forced her way past the hordes of students taking up leg room in the aisle, and muttered a thank you to the bus driver. Rain beat down on her, and shivering, Belle trudged towards the residence halls.

Out the corner of her eye, Belle saw the old local pub with its diamond-panes windows and bust of Queen Victoria looming ominously above the door. The wind picked up even more, and a deluge of rain fell suddenly on her head. Making her decision, Belle bustled into the warmth of the pub, shaking out her hair.

When she looked up, who should she see but Adam Darensbourg, staring at her behind the bar in mild shock.

_Great._


	9. Chapter 9

A tidal wave of rain poured down the windows of the old pub, and Belle and Adam stayed frozen in their respective positions. She had never seen him like this - never seen him in the middle of working, doing something other than the mysterious degree which nobody knew about, or picking fights with her over something not meant to be overheard. The steady drip of her wet jacket on the floor became the strange leading melody in a melée of sound - the hum of the fridge, the even monotone voice of the distant newscaster on TV, the beating wind and howling rain, the deep rumble of the dishwasher, the soft sound the dishcloth made when it fell through Adam's fingers, and their own unsteady breathing.

"I can - I can go . . ." Belle said quietly, barely audible over the pouring rain. "I didn't know you were here - I probably need to -"

"Stay," Adam said louder, the sound jarring across the otherwise deserted pub. "It's still pouring outside. You'll be soaked." Hesitantly, Belle approached the bar, swinging herself onto a stool just far enough from Adam to be socially acceptable, yet make it clear she didn't want to talk to him. They stared ahead of them, fixated on their respective views: Belle on the collection of old wine bottles in front of her, and Adam on the sheets of water attacking the windowpanes. In the absence of a ticking clock, Adam drummed his fingers on the weathered wood, and Belle found herself wondering why he was being - for him - nice to her.

"Uh - would you like something to drink?" Belle snapped her head around, regretting it slightly when the ends of her hair slapped against her face, to see Adam chewing the inside of his lip, clearly as uncomfortable as she was.

"Could I have some - some coffee, please," she asked. She wasn't in the mood to be mocked by him because she dared to order such a 'hipster' drink as tea. And besides, it wasn't like Belle _hated_ coffee. "A cappuccino, if that's alright?"

"Sure," he said. "One cappuccino coming up." She could tell from the look on his face that Adam knew she preferred tea, but to his credit he said nothing about it.

The sudden gurgle of the machine coming to life caused Belle to nearly jump off her seat in shock, and she was glad Adam hadn't been facing her. _It would've been one more thing for him to mock me about, with those stupid, mocking pretentious eyes,_ she thought. _Don't you think you're kind of blowing this thing out if proportion?_ a smaller part of her asked. _Be quiet,_ Belle admonished. _The last thing I need is to start arguing with myself comprehensively - then I really will be the crazy mechanic's daughter._ Her phone buzzed loudly from the recesses of her bag, and she mouthed a "Sorry," at Adam before rifling through it.

"Hey," she sang, spinning off the stool and beginning to pace up and down, "this is Belle Lecteur."

"Belle," a vaguely familiar voice said, "It's me, Resa Gerard? It's about George - and your dad. He's looking for you."

\---

Adam turned back to the cappuccino machine, Belle's rain-soaked form just visible out the corner of his eye. He may have been more familiar with pouring a draft, but before Adam had taken this job, he'd been a barista in Costa for all his first year. He watched with a careful eye for the instant when there was no more room in the mug for the foam water and coffee, before flicking the switch off and exchanging the cup for an old rag. He laid it carefully on the counter, and glanced around for Belle. As if summoned by the knowledge her drink was ready and waiting, the short girl paced back into view, still talking on the phone.

"Well, are you sure?" Belle rested her hand on the bar, left hip jutting out and hair falling over her right shoulder - the picture of nonchalance, if you ignored her rapidly tapping index finger. "Okay. Okay, I'll remember." A pause. "I can't come down, I'm in the middle of a term." Another, longer pause. "Thanks for telling me anyway, Resa. Bye." Shaking her head slightly, Belle tucked the phone back into the recesses of her bag, only then noticing the steaming cup.

"Three fifty," Adam said.

"Thanks," Belle muttered, handing the coins across. The pub fell silent once more, interrupted only by Belle alternately sipping and blowing on her drink. Adam started chewing the inside of his lip again, stomach churning in nervousness at what he wanted to do next.

"Belle?" She looked up sharply again, confusion written across her face. "I - uh - I feel bad about how we started off." _Great start, genius, now try and make it sound like the TRUTH._ "I was, uh, wondering if you'd like to make it up over dinner? Say, around eight?" _Terrific. You've really made it seem genuine. Well done, Darensbourg._

"Sorry, I - I don't - I'm busy." Belle hitched her bag onto her shoulder, and drank quicker.

"Why?"

"I don't really see how that's your business."

"I just want to know why you're rejecting me." Belle placed the cup down gently, and straightened up so that, with the added height of the bar stool, her forehead was directly in front of his line of sight.

"Why I'm rejecting you, let's see - you've been _nothing_ but rude to me since I came here, you act as if you'd rather be anywhere than the same room as me, and _I don't like you_." She hopped off the barstool (with much more grace than Cogsworth had earlier that evening) and marched toward the door.

"Where are you going - it's still raining!"

"I don't care!" Belle shouted, pausing in the already half-open door. "I do not like you, Adam Darensbourg, but I am prepared to live with you. Just not on my own!" She slammed the door behind her, and it rattled throughout the deserted bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! They reeealy hate each other right now! Hopefully in a chapter or two the 'West Wing Intrusion' will happen and all this introductory stuff can be over and done with. And yes, you will find out what Resa Gerard told Belle, but not yet. Not yet.


	10. Chapter 10

Belle stumbled into the pod, her hair plastered to her face and clothes completely saturated with water. Cogsworth and Lumière started up from where they lay half across the table, and Babette rushed towards her, peeling Belle's numb fingers away from the strap of her bag.

"Is it just me or is it raining outside?" Belle forced out through chattering teeth, attempting a smile.

"Come on, Belle, get out of those wet things and have a bath to warm you up, _non_?" Babette asked forcefully, peeling away Belle's jacket and skilfully untangling her favourite blue ribbon from her web of dark hair. Shakily, Belle nodded and edged towards the bathroom, visibly shivering with goosebumps layered up her arms. "Lumière, _amour_ , put the kettle on," Babette ordered, rubbing the younger girl's arms vigorously while frog marching her out the living room.

"At your service, _mon ange_ ," he replied, stretching like an over-indulged cat before snapping into action. "Just tea?" he shouted from the kitchenette.

"Y-yes please," Belle stuttered, barely audible over the sound of running water. "Thank you!"

"No problem, _mademoiselle_ ," he grinned, even though Belle couldn't see it.

Babette stalked out the bathroom, and started rummaging through the cupboards while the kettle made its earthquake-like rumble.

"Biscuits are under the cutlery drawer," Cogsworth proffered, still sitting on his chair.

" _Merci_ ," Babette nodded, poking around for a jammy dodger. "Why are you not going to do anything - leave all the work to Lumiére and myself?"

"Because, _mon ange_ ," Lumière smiled, squeezing her waist as he reached for the tea bags, "my dear friend Cogsworth cannot cook to save his life, huh?"

"I tried making pancakes for Adam's twelfth birthday and - through no fault of my own, may I add," Cogsworth admitted, "I broke four plates and set off the fire alarm. Twice."

Babette and Lumière looked at each other, entertained the thought of _not_ laughing for a brief moment, and proceeded to shriek profusely. The kettle clicked off, and Lumière stirred Belle's milk and sugar into the tea. Babette moved over to the bathroom door and knocked gently.

"Belle?" she called.

"Yeah?" The sloshing of water was heard, and the door opened a crack.

"Your tea is ready," Babette said, handing the mug and biscuit through the door.

"Thank you! I hope you and Lumière and Cogsworth are having some too - I'd hate for you to go to all this trouble just for me."

"No need for any feelings of guilt," Cogsworth intoned from his seat on the table.

"I feel confident that you would do the same for us."

"If you don't mind," Lumière asked, "would you mind telling us how you got this wet and cold? I'm sure there are an abundance of cafés and bars in Dunbroch."

"I did go in one, but, uh, Adam was there and we had a disagreement," Belle said, sipping her tea. "I just kind of ran out after that."

"What sort of disagreement?" Babette asked, sitting down at the edge of the doorframe.

"Oh, you know, the usual - _il me regardait bizarrement, m'a invité à sortir - dieu sait pourquoi - et a les boules quand j'avais dit non. Trou du cul_."

"Ahem - Belle, I am aware you speak French, but I do not and I am still in hearing range," Cogsworth coughed pointedly.

"I know," Belle said, moving so that the corner of her earthy eye was visible through the door, "but I feel bad when I insult him. He's your cousin - it's not _your_ fault I don't like him."

"Anyway," Lumière said, standing up suddenly, "shall we be nice to you and say you're asleep when he comes in from work?"

"It's ok - I'll probably _actually_ be asleep by then anyway - but thank you for the gesture," Belle replied. "Now if it's alright with all of you, I'm going to shut the door and get on with my bath."

\---

Half an hour later, Lumière and Babette had gone out to one of the other small bars in town, Cogsworth was studying, and Belle was finally out the bath. Flushed pink, she dashed the short distance between the bathroom and her bedroom, rubbing the ratty blue towel over her shoulders once she was concealed within. Fumbling around for her dressing gown, Belle scooped all her hair into her towel and settled into her favourite part of a bath - reading while her hair dried. Unfortunately, Belle had learned the hard way that she was just too clumsy to read while actually _in_ the bath, but this way was still nice.

She knelt down beside her bookcase and ran her fingers delicately over the spines, tapping them like piano keys as she hummed a tune under her breath. When she had finished a new book and was looking for something to re-read, Belle inevitably went for the 'It-is-the-book-that-chooses-the-reader,-Mr.-Potter' approach. She always screwed her eyes up tight, extended one finger out like the E. T. poster and, swirling it in concentric circles, suddenly jabbed at a random title. Her mother used to light candles in honour of it.

Now, Belle opened her eyes at the ribbed, well-read texture of the spine before her. _Jane Eyre,_ she thought. _Brilliant._ Smiling, she pulled it out, only for the front cover to fall away and all the pages to flutter to the floor, birds falling on an autumn hunt.

"Oh," she said. _I forgot. George got his hands on this._

Belle jumped up suddenly, leaving the tattered remains of her most-loved book on her floor, and scrambled around the room quickly getting dressed. _I'm sure there's a bookshop somewhere in town. You can get a new copy - just dry your hair and go, Lecteur._

"Hair dryer . . . hair dryer . . . Cogsworth, have you seen the hair dryer?" she called, scurrying out her room.

"W - what?" Cogsworth blinked heavily, half-asleep on the kitchen table.

"Hair dryer. Where is it?"

"Adam's room," he mumbled, settling back down underneath his textbook.

"Okay," Belle whispered, facing the door. "Okay, just in and out and down to the bookstore. Yeah, I can do this. Yeah." She reached out, hand on the doorknob. Belle glanced back once to the pod door, steeled herself, and gently eased herself in.

\---

It took her a minute to adjust to the darkness, as the curtains had been closed tightly and all other sources of light were switched off. Blindly, Belle felt the wall for the switch, keeping the pats as quiet as she could. When her fingers managed to press down on it, the relative brightness caused her to wince, shielding her eyes with her hands. Keeping her gaze as far away from the contents of Adam's room as possible, Belle quickly scanned the floor to find the hot-pink hair dryer Resa had given her for her seventeenth birthday. _There it is,_ she smiled. _Right on top of the wardrobe._

She picked her way across the floor, dramatically slipping on a discarded pillow case haphazardly left out, before Belle was finally in front of it. She stretched up, grabbed the nearest part of the hair dryer she could reach (the cord) and lightly pulled, only for something hard and sharp to fall on her head, before the hair dryer clunked onto her shoulder and then the ground.

"What's this?" Belle muttered, picking up the sharp object.

It was a photo frame. A man, woman and child smiled out at her from their confines. The man was short, stout, but with kind, piercing blue eyes and balding hair. His wife, Belle assumed, was significantly taller, with deep brown eyes and a shimmering mane of auburn hair. The little boy in between them was unmistakably -

"What do you think you're doing?" Belle whipped around in shock, dropping the photo on the floor again to face the little boy in the photograph ten years older - a furious Adam Darensbourg.

"I - I'm sorry - I was just looking for my hair dryer and -"

"What are you doing with that?! _Why_ are you looking at that?!" He took a step forwards, and Belle straightened up, backing away slowly. If she thought his eyes had flashed fire before, it was nothing compared to the animalistic fury contained within them now.

"I'm sorry, it just - it just fell down when I was getting my hair dryer -"

"GET OUT!" He was nearly in her face, and Belle shoved him as hard as she could, knocking him into the wardrobe, and ran out his room. "GET OUT!" he yelled again.

"Belle, what is it, what's the matter?" Cogsworth was wide awake, waddling behind her as fast as he could.

"I'm sorry, Cogsworth, I tried, I really did, but I can't stay here another minute!" Belle hauled the door open and raced out the pod, feet flying, hair slapping her face, eyes burning with tears that were destined to never fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know where we are in the movie, you know what's happening yet.
> 
> It has taken me ten chapters to write 30 minutes of screen time. This is ridiculous.
> 
> Reviews make me happy :)
> 
> Oh yeah, and Belle says "He looked at me weirdly, asked me out - God knows why - and got pissed off when I said no."
> 
> A very helpful guest reviewer on ff.net gave me a correction in the French I used (because I am lazy and have been using Google translate instead of actually translating.) They also pointed out that I've been spelling Lumière wrong the entire time, so I'll go back and correct those. Thank you!


	11. Chapter 11

Belle stumbled out the swinging doors of the reception area straight into a bone-chilling wind and rain nearly horizontal. Within seconds her clothes were damp and her eyes blurry, not with tears but rain. Still sobbing dryly, she stumbled into the main area of Dunbroch, searching for a taxi or a bus or _something_ to get her home, away from here. _But you can't go home,_ she thought. _George is there._

"I can still get a train to Inverness," she said out loud.

_And then what?_

"I'll figure it out later." Resolved, Belle flicked up her hood and jogged away, trying to ignore that Cogsworth would probably be looking for her out the window of the dorm, or calling Lumière and Babette in a panic. She just had to get out of there, preferably without getting anyone more hurt than they already were.

\---

"ADAM VINCENT DARESNBOURG!" Cogsworth shouted, storming into his younger cousin's room as fury shot out of his eyes and his very moustache trembled with passion, " _WHAT_ ON _EARTH_ DID YOU SAY TO BELLE THAT MADE HER RUN OUT SO SUDDENLY?"

"I told her to get out," Adam said flatly, sitting small on the edge of his bed.

"Why?!" Cogsworth shouted, pacing up and down in one of the few ways that made the short, stout man seem threatening.

"She was looking at the picture." He shifted slightly.

"It doesn't _matter_ if she saw a picture of you - are you crazy?!" Cogsworth stopped in front of his younger cousin, glad that regret had doused his temper for the time being. "What was even in it?" he asked, tutting.

"Mum and Dad," Adam said.

As suddenly as Cogsworth's rare temper had been awakened, it died down again. Awkwardly, he reached a hand out to Adam's shoulder. His cousin flinched and stood up quickly. Neither of them looked hurt by the exchange.

"It's beginning to snow," Adam said quietly from the window.

"She doesn't have a jacket on," Cogsworth said urgently.

"First snow of the year," Adam muttered, "in _October_ , for crying out loud."

"Adam, Belle's out there all alone - she'll be freezing cold." He moved so that he was directly behind Adam.

"She hates me. We failed. I'll be disinherited."

"You remember more than anyone how dangerous snowy nights can be." There was a heavy silence.

"Fine," Adam said, turning around quickly and picking up an old blue coat that used to be his father's. "I'll go talk to her or something. But I'm not making any promises."

\---

It was hard for Belle to remember exactly when the freezing rain had _actually_ frozen and turned into snow. Her hood was still bunched tightly around her head, strands of her dark hair flying wildly around her face, held down only by her numb fingers. She found herself wishing she hadn't put on trainers and instead worn her boots - her lovely, cosy, _waterproof_ boots . . . Despite the pains in her feet and the violent shivers, Belle was still tramping along at a good pace, and she was nearly halfway towards the bus station before she realised something was wrong.

She was being followed.

With the expertise born from long practise, Belle glanced into the nearest shop window and saw them. Two large, heavy-set men - one slightly shorter than the other - laughing jovially and quite obviously following her through the abandoned street. It was already dark at five by this time of year, and Belle let one of her hands fall from her hood to feel around in her jacket pocket for her phone - more specifically, the torch on her phone. She glanced into another shop window, and it seemed they were waking just a little bit faster, with a little more purpose. Belle picked up the pace in turn, head burrowed down to try and avoid the much larger snowflakes that fell now. A snatch of conversation carried across to Belle on the wind.

"Come on, mate, she's fit - keep going, you're gonna lose her!"

_Oh god,_ Belle thought. _Oh god oh god oh god help me please._ She was nearly at the bus stop now. She could see the metallic roof only a few feet away. A large object smacked into her rain-soaked hoodie, and as Belle staggered, the icy wetness suggested it was a snowball. _Oh god HELP ME!_ she nearly screamed, breathing quickly.

"Jackpot!" The two men crowed, and as Belle was righting herself so she didn't slip on the ice, they chucked another one - this time letting the ice _just_ graze the side of her face. Belle cried out quietly, the sudden shock causing her to lose her footing, and she fell on the ice.

"Watch out sweetheart," one of them joked, "it's a bit slippy up here!"

"Lemme help you up," the other, bigger one mumbled through a fog of liquor, grabbing her elbow with painful tightness and hauling her up roughly.

"Let me go," Belle said, trying - and failing - to twist her arm out his grasp.

"Oh, now, now, y'see - that's not gonna happen," the smaller one leered.

"Let me GO!" Belle stamped hard on the bigger man's foot, and in the intervening second she wrestled her elbow away and started to race back to Main Street. Her body pumping with adrenaline, she barely got three metres before the smaller man yanked her back to him with a strength she wouldn't have expected from his small stature. His right hand clamped around her wrist, while his other arm wound its way sneakily around Belle's waist, pinning her to him in some twisted form of a ballroom dance. She struggled, trying to worm her way out, but the man merely forced her arm down to his waiting hand and grabbed the back of her neck, his nails scraping on the delicate skin, tugging painfully on her small hairs.

"Well," he murmured in her ear, as Belle shook in unbridled terror, "this is going to be . . . _interesting._ "

Suddenly the large man screamed. Belle and her captor both turned in unison, as a tall, muscular man lunged at him and began punching and kicking him with gusto.

"Dan!" The short man threw Belle to the ground, kicking her in the stomach for good measure, before running to help his friend. As she gasped for breath, she could see her tall defender punch her attacker at least twice, the small man quickly changing from attack to defence. The large man got behind him, and smacked him straight into the wall of the building next to them. In the orange-yellow glow of the street lamps, Belle was able to see his face.

Adam was the one trying to save her.

Truth be told, the attack on his head hadn't seemed to deter him much - Adam barrelled into the large man's stomach again, and his small friend finally grabbed his arm and pulled him away, back to the relative darkness of Main Street. Once he was satisfied they were gone, Adam turned to Belle, and only now did she see the blood running down his forehead. They stood there for a second, frozen, before Adam staggered, reached a hand out to try and reach the wall, and collapsed on the snowy ground.

Belle stood up shakily. Behind her, she heard the familiar sound of the bus pulling up. She turned towards it, knowing it was the last bus of the night. _Go,_ a part of her whispered. _You were going to do this anyway - go!_

But the larger, better part of her mind said, _Adam just saved your life. The least you can do is help him._

_This is your last chance to go and find Papa!_

_If you leave him here, he'll die._

Belle pivoted away from the bus, barely paying attention to it as it pulled away. She slipped and slid over to where Adam lay, a small patch of snow already turning pink with the blood from his head. His bright red hair was across his face, and Belle noticed that, like her, his shoes weren't waterproof. Grunting, she heaved the unconscious man up, draping him across her shoulders.

"Come on," she muttered. "Let's get you cleaned up."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Adam's head wound isn't graphic, there are a _lot_ of blood mentions in this chapter, so just be warned.

"Cogsworth!" Belle slammed her fist against the door again, hardly caring about the pain smarting through her knuckles. She still had one arm wrapped tightly around Adam's waist to stop him from falling; she'd had to haul him up and drag him all the way back to the dorms, on her own, in the driving snow. She was lucky there hadn't been any cars out, Belle reflected as she pummeled the small door again. "Cogsworth, let me in!" Adam started slipping out her small grasp again, and again Belle had to awkwardly grab for his belt and pull him up over her body, her nails digging into the soft flesh of his hip and the thinner skin of his wrist as she pulled his left arm over her shoulders again. His bloodstained head rested on her shoulder, and Belle noticed with some relief that the bleeding appeared to have stopped. A few crimson drops had fallen on his coat as they had walked, turning the dark blue a deeper purple in spots, and Belle noticed that her own blue hoodie had a large brown-red patch where Adam's head had kept falling. "Cogsworth!" she yelled again. As a last resort, she kicked the door. Finally it opened, to reveal a significantly paler, trembling Cogsworth.

"Belle," he gasped, "what on earth -"

"I don't have time for questions right now," she interrupted, barreling past him and depositing Adam on the nearest chair. "I need you to boil some water and pour it in a bowl - make sure the water is boiling hot when you pour it in. Are Lumière and Babette here?"

"No, Belle - but -"

"Okay," Belle said, pushing Adam's hair out his face and wound, "that means you'll have to go down and get Mrs. Potts for me - I've been taking to her a bit over the last few weeks and she said she used to be a nurse, so we'll need her in case Adam has to go to the hospital." She glanced up at the overwhelmed man, and noticed the panic in his eyes.

"Cogsworth," Belle said urgently, "I _need_ you to focus. I know it's a lot of blood, but head wounds do that. We have to clean him up so I can tell how big the wound is, okay?"

"Okay," Cogsworth gulped, turning to the little kettle and flicking it on, before loudly searching the kitchen for a bowl. 

Forcing herself to walk through her ever-increasing state of exhaustion, Belle hurried to her room, grabbed the first hair tie she could see, and swished back into the main living area, tying Adam's long, ginger hair out the way. The kettle grumbled, and Cogsworth paced over, careful not to let a single drop fall out of the ceramic bowl. 

"Thank you," Belle smiled, and the older man seemed to relax a little. "If it's not too much trouble, could you pass me a clean towel, please?" 

"Of course," Cogsworth said, dashing in and out of the bathroom in a trice. "I'll go and get Mrs. Potts then," he added unnecessarily, and he quietly shut the door behind him. 

Belle let out a deep breath. She swirled her fingers through the water a little, checking that it wasn't _scalding_ hot, before dipping in a small corner of the blue hand towel and dabbing at Adam's forehead. She stood over him, letting the light shine on his face, and as the blood was washed away, Belle noticed absently that when he wasn't scowling, Adam actually looked . . . _nice._ As if he wasn't the same person who had screamed at her a grand total of three times, but rather the little boy in the photo she had seen. 

Looking back, Belle mused as she soaked a different part of the towel, the photo had probably been something important to him for Adam to start yelling even before she even said anything. From what she could remember of it, Adam seemed to have the piercing blue eyes of the man and the flaming red hair of the woman there. _So, definitely his parents,_ Belle mused as she started wiping the crusted blood off his cheek. _But why was he so upset? It's not like they had -_

Adam's breathing shifted slightly, and Belle took a half step back. She wasn't afraid of him, but regardless of the fact that he had saved her life, she still didn't like him. He groaned quietly, and his eyes fluttered open, screwing themselves up against the light. Belle was glad, now, that a lot of the blood had been washed away. It had been bad enough for _Cogsworth_ to see his cousin coated in his own blood - Belle could hardly imagine the terror felt waking up with your own face covered in blood. 

_Actually,_ she remembered, _you can._

"What - what's going on?" His voice was small and frail - surprisingly so, Belle thought - and he reached up to touch the medium wound on his head. 

"Don't touch that," Belle said quickly, lightly grabbing his wrist. "You were thrown into a wall, and I've not finished wiping the wound clean." Surprisingly, Adam was obedient, letting his hand fall to his lap with no further protest. 

"How long have I been out?"

"About half an hour," Belle said, glancing up at the clock to verify her statement. "You might be concussed; Cogsworth's gone to get Mrs. Potts in case you need to be driven to the hospital."

Adam closed his eyes again, his brow furrowing. 

"Mind telling me your name?"

"You _know_ my name," Adam muttered, opening his sky-like eyes to look into Belle's earthy ones. 

"Yeah, _I_ know your name, I just want to make sure that _you_ know your name." She swirled the towel around the pink-tinted water, and frowned. "One second," Belle said, and in a swift motion she poured the bloody water down the sink and clicked the kettle back on. "So," she rejoined as the kettle bubbled, "your name."

"Adam Darensbourg," he sighed. 

"Age?"

"Twenty."

"Birthday?"

"Has it occurred to you that since you don't know me all that well, for all you know I'm a raving lunatic just pulling these numbers out of nowhere?" The kettle clicked off, and Belle turned away again. 

"I can always check the accuracy of your statements with Cogsworth when he comes back," she said as she refilled the bowl. "Okay," she hummed, saturating the towel again, "I'm going to try and wash the wound. This might stung a little." She dabbed experimentally at Adam's cut, and he let out a roar of pain, flailing his hands and knocking the towel out Belle's hand. 

"That hurt!" he yelled reproachfully, in response to Belle's look of utter hatred. 

"For the _love_ of _God_ will you stop being such a baby!" She grabbed the towel from the floor and started wiping away again. "It wouldn't hurt so much if you'd just _hold still!_ "

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't run away," he grumbled as Belle's surprisingly strong fingers held his head in place. 

"If you hadn't frightened me I wouldn't have run away," Belle rejoined, still being as gentle as when he was unconscious. 

"Well _you_ shouldn't have been looking at my things," Adam argued, trying and failing to _not_ sound like a petulant teenager. 

"Well _you_ should learn to control your tempter!" Belle said, holding his angry gaze. His jaw set, and for a moment it seemed to Belle he was going to start yelling - _again_ \- and they would argue - _again_. He half-rose from his seat, but Belle pushed him down again. 

"I haven't finished," she muttered. "I need to clean this." Adam relaxed back into the seat, but his eyes never left hers. "By the way," Belle added, "thank you. For saving me." Flushing, she deliberately focused on the (relatively) small cut instead of Adam's piercing blue eyes. 

"You're welcome," he said stiffly. "Belle - I meant what I said, earlier. I do think we, uh, got off on the wrong foot. And I realise that was my fault. Do you want to start over?"

"Sure," Belle said. "That'd be nice." She smiled quietly, and took a step back. "That's you all cleaned up. I'll get a plaster."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue from Beauty and the Beast, obviously, does not belong to me.


	13. Chapter 13

"Why didn't you call me?" 

Belle jerked her head up from the hard wooden table, weary and disoriented. She blinked heavily, eventually finding Cogsworth in the darkness of the living area. 

"When?" she yawned, rubbing the cricks out of her neck. 

"When Adam fell over and you dragged him all the way back on your own - why didn't you call me?" Cogsworth pulled up the other chair and sat next to Belle, interlacing his fingers and laying them helplessly on the table. "I could have helped - you wouldn't have had to do it alone."

"I didn't mind," Belle said, twisting a strand of her dark brown hair around her pinky. "I usually have to do things alone. Papa was always so busy, fixing cars and tinkering with his own inventions he never really had time to help me if I needed it - but that was just with little things, like homework or craft fairs, that sort of stuff." She sighed quietly. 

"You still could've - _should have_ called," Cogsworth said, and he stood up slowly, exhaustion marking his features. 

"Everything turned out fine, Cogsworth," Belle smiled weakly. "Well - apart from Adam and his head wound. What did the doctors say?"

"He should be fine," Cogsworth sighed, guarded relief on his face. "We were lucky he didn't need stitches - as long as he stays away from activities involving heads being knocked together for a few weeks, he should be fine." 

"Where is he?" Belle asked, standing up and stretching. 

"Sleeping. Lumière and Babette joined us at the hospital as soon as they heard, but they went out to the library to 'study' about half an hour ago." Belle giggled at the stony expression on Cogsworth's face, disapproval marked in every line. 

"Anyway," he sighed again, "I'm off to bed. Hopefully nobody will be falling behind in their classes." He toddled across the room, and stopped abruptly by his door. "Ah, Belle?"

"Yes?" she asked, tucking her long-abandoned cup of tea on the draining board. 

"Before you ran out - you looked all ready to go outside, you were even fully dressed. Can I ask . . ."

Belle sighed. "I was - I - the last guy I was with, he . . . didn't always _appreciate_ my love of books. A copy of an old favourite was a bit battered, and I was just trying to find another copy in the bookshop - I haven't even been there yet, and I've been here three months." 

Cogsworth nodded sympathetically. "Yes, it is _quite_ the jump from secondary school, isn't it? Sixth form didn't really leave me prepared for the 'real world' at all."

"What's sixth form again?" Belle asked, motioning for the older man to sit down again. 

"Sixth form is the last two years of secondary school in England - optional, of course. I think in Scotland that would be the equivalent to fifth and sixth year." He smiled, and sat down next to Belle again, patting her wrist in a fatherly manner. 

"If you don't mind my asking . . . why did you leave England?" Belle twisted her fingers around gently, the overlapping shape reminiscent of an old conch shell her mother had treasured beyond reason. "I mean . . . it was your home, you probably had a job . . . why did you leave?"

Cogsworth slumped his shoulders in. "As you are probably aware, I am Adam's cousin. There was . . . an accident involving his parents. In their will they named me legal guardian." He sniffed loudly. "They had expressed a desire that we stay here, and who was I to disobey my aunt's wishes?" He shrugged slightly, smiling ruefully. "So I stayed. And now," Cogsworth said, easing himself out his chair, "I really need to get to bed. Goodnight, Belle."

"Goodnight Cogsworth," she replied, getting ready herself to go to bed. 

"Belle." She turned, to see Cogsworth looking at her more earnestly than she had ever seen. "Thank you. For saving Adam. You didn't have to do that."

"No," she smiled quietly, "I did."

\---

Almost without Belle noticing, she had been living in the rythym of the university for three months. Nothing had happened when she hadn't made it home for the October holidays. That should have been her first sign that something was wrong. Resa's call had really only confirmed what Belle had already suspected - that her father wasn't at home. In fact, if George hadn't been mentioned, Belle doubted Resa would have called at all. 

But he had, and she did. 

As far as Belle could tell, George had been looking for her. He had tried blackmailing Mr. Domarchy into telling him where he is, but as the bookseller honestly didn't know, George, according to Resa, had gone looking for her father. 

"When I got there the place was, like, completely trashed," Resa had mumbled through the phone. "The workbench had a ton of axe-marks in it, and there was a ton of paint poured over the floor."

"Is my dad okay?" Belle had asked hurriedly. 

"I _think_ so - the last time anyone saw him he was back in the pub, practically _begging_ George's dad for help. Everyone just thought he was cr- I mean, they thought he -"

"It's okay, Resa, you don't have to sugar-coat it. I know what everyone thinks of my dad." There was a few seconds of dead air. 

"Anyway, I just thought you should know. Celeste and Helen were like, _no,_ but I thought you should hear about it." Belle heard Resa gulp, and suddenly she started whispering so quickly Belle could barely make out the words. "George still doesn't know where you went to uni but he's looking for you and your dad just kinda mumbled that he was going to travel around for parts and the only people who know where you are right now are me and my sisters so I don't know if you wanna go to the police or what but I just thought you should know if George finds you, I never said _anything_. Bye."

Now, Belle curled up tighter inside her duvet. Through the half-open curtains she could glimpse the far-off, glittering stars. And as she looked up at them, she could only hope that Maurice was safe, and far, far away from George Castin.


	14. Chapter 14

In the day or so following his injury, Belle and Adam existed in an uneasy peace. Neither of them picked arguments with the other. They said hello in the mornings. Once, Adam even managed a half-smile when Belle burst out laughing at something in her book, before both of them glanced up at each other, their awkward history re-remembered. Belle didn't hear anything else from Resa or her father, and Adam kept his distance from a strangely proud Cogsworth. For some reason Belle couldn't stop thinking about Adam's face just before he came to - the softness of his skin, the minuscule smile - they were embedded in her memory as deeply as the colour of her mother's eyes, or the smell of scented candles the flat in Edinburgh had always possessed. As for Adam, the gentleness of Belle's fingers on his face - a gentleness he had not expected from somebody so strong and sharp as Belle was - haunted many of his dreams in the following nights. 

Eventually, three days after the attack on Belle, she stalked into the pod, hauling her heavy bag up to rest on the kitchen counter, flumped onto the hard wooden chairs at the table, laced her fingers together, and rested her head on the interlocking digits, looking straight at Adam as he sat opposite her. 

"This is a little awkward, isn't it?" she said without preamble. 

"Sorry?" Adam asked, his mind still caught up in the world of Cormoran Strike, placing his kindle face-down on the table.

"This," Belle said, gesturing to the space between them. "This . . . whatever you want to call it. I know you said you wanted to try and get along better, but honestly I don't know if this is any better than what was happening beforehand."

"Well, it's not like we _hate_ each other - is it?" Adam asked, slightly worried that the humbling of his (considerable) pride and the strange, mutual trust the two of them had expressed earlier was for nothing. After all, while _his_ dislike had been founded on irritation and assumptions, Belle actually had good reason to hate his guts.

"No, I don't - I don't _hate_ you, but - well, I don't exactly - "

"Like me all that much either," Adam finished. Belle flushed, and he knew that he had got it right. "Well . . . to be honest, I think my situation is kind of the same. I mean, I don't hate you - I never hated you - okay, maybe at the start - I mean, I - I'd just met you and - oh." Adam sat up at the realization. "This _is_ awkward, isn't it?"

Belle chuckled. "Yeah, a little bit, I think." A smile darted across Adam's face, but almost as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished again. Belle lowered her right hand and absent-mindedly started tapping out a rhythm on the table, her eyes still on Adam's face, while Adam himself chewed silently on his inner lip. Making up her mind, Belle twisted round in her seat and fished a pile of dog-eared coursework out of her bag, and started reading over it. Adam picked up his kindle again and re-entered the world of murder mystery. 

Belle's eyes glanced over the day's notes, attempting to take in what her professor had said, but all she could think was that sooner or later Adam would be mocking her for being so studious. She glanced up, only to see him intent on his machine, and Belle quickly flicked her eyes back down again. She blushed again, and reached behind her head to tighten her ponytail. _Why did you think he was looking at you? He said he wouldn't pick fights anymore - so why are you so nervous?_ Belle sighed, shifting slightly in her chair. _Because,_ she replied to herself, _I have good reason not to believe short-tempered, long-haired men who say they've changed._

At Belle's sigh, Adam swallowed almost imperceptibly. He could almost feel her eyes boring into his head, and he attacked his inner lip even more violently than before, determined not to look up. He didn't do very well with attention - hadn't since he was about eleven or twelve. Giving in to temptation, he sneaked a glance at the strange girl who had helped him despite her prejudices, only to find that she was intently studying her coursework, a gentle flush colouring her cheek. Finally, his teeth punctured the delicate skin of his mouth, and Adam tasted his own blood. 

"Ow," he muttered, and quickly he scraped away from the table, taking his kindle with him, and rushed to the bathroom to inspect his mouth. 

Belle sighed in relief. It had been almost painful to spend that much time alone with him - really, with any man since she had left George. Swiftly, before Adam could re-emerge, she stuffed her coursework back into her bag, grabbed a banana from the fruit basket that Adam seemed weirdly intent on keeping fresh, and ran off the the library. 

Adam sighed in relief. Spending that much time alone with someone - especially Belle, with their recent history for once getting a chance of repairing itself - was slightly terrifying. He washed his hands slowly, letting the warm water heat his frigid fingers, and glanced up at his reflection. His father's blue eyes stared back, and did not break their gaze.

\---

"Why is it that whenever something incredibly awkward happens between Adam and Belle that we are always stuck in somebody's room eavesdropping?" Lumière hissed from his position pressed against Cogsworth's door.

"Beats me," Cogsworth whispered back, lying face-down on the floor attempting to see through the gap between his door and the door frame.

It was almost the same situation as last time. Lumière needed some theory practise, and Cogsworth was feeling lonely, so the two of them joined together and started studying in Cogsworth's room. They hadn't paid much attention when they heard Adam walk in, but as soon as they heard Belle's voice the two of them had dropped their papers and rushed to the door. 

Straightening up and rubbing his back, Cogsworth winced slightly. "I'm glad that wasn't as disastrous as the Classic Novels Incident," he said. 

" _Oui, mon ami_ ," Lumière agreed, "at least they're not fighting anymore." 

Cogsworth collapsed on his bed, and silently urged Lumière to join him. "So," he muttered, "do you think he has a chance?"

"Maybe," Lumière sighed. "Personally, I think he needs to stop thinking about it in terms of whether he 'has a chance' or not, but again, that's just my opinion." 

"For once, Lumière, I have to agree with you." Cogsworth sighed again, worrying about his little cousin. "I just hope _he_ realises that before it's too late."


	15. Chapter 15

". . . And that's how he did it," Adam declared triumphantly. Babette, Lumière, and Cogsworth were seated at the dinner table, all looking down at Adam, who was sitting on the floor, deeply confused. Babette was frowning, Lumière was muttering to himself in a strange mixture of French, German, and garbled English, while Cogsworth appeared to be counting to himself on his fingers.

"Ahem," Belle coughed apologetically from behind her bedroom door. "If I may," she said, slipping out from her room, a pen still clutched in one hand. She walked steadily towards the table, and perched on it, swinging her feet slightly, Adam noticed. She smiled quietly at him, a slight blush colouring her cheeks. "You put up a convincing argument," Belle said, in a voice that was not her own. "But riddle me this, Mr. Detective - what did they do with the body?"

Adam opened his mouth, closed it, frowned and bit his thumb.

"Damn it, Lecteur," he said after a moment, "you've got me. The one flaw in the explanation."

"Ah, well it takes more than our mere mortal minds to figure out how Sherlock survived his fall," Belle said.

"Do you have a better explanation?" Lumière asked, turning his sharp black eyes to Belle's face.

"Maybe we should consult the original books," Babette said, her forehead clearing.

"No, there's no point," Adam interrupted. "Conan Doyle hated being known for Sherlock Holmes - he killed him off on the shabbiest of reasons, but was forced to bring him 'back to life' due to popular demand. I mean, come on - Watson just assumes he's dead, just because he didn't physically see Holmes fall to his death?"

"Most people would," Cogsworth pointed out.

"It would be very difficult for somebody to survive a fall of that height off a waterfall, and do so without being observed by anybody," Lumière said.

"Well, whatever the answer is," Babette says with a flutter of her hands, "you won't find out until January."

"Yeah," Belle and Adam sighed in unison. They glanced at each other, both slightly unnerved by their mutual love for something. Babette, blind to their awkwardness, shuffled off the table and started making a cup of tea. 

"Lumière, I believe we have to . . ." Cogsworth muttered audibly.

"Oh yes, _mon ami,_ I forgot we have to . . ." Lumière said loudly.

"Well come on, let's go to my room and we can . . . do that." They scurried out the room with unusual speed, and Belle and Adam were left sitting awkwardly opposite each other. Belle tapped her toes against each other quietly and looked down at the table, which unfortunately was completely bland and ordinary, unlike the levels of tension between her and Adam. Babette bustled about in the kitchen behind her, and Belle remembered that she had a nerve-rackingly long essay to write, which was due a little sooner than she was comfortable with. She bounced off the table, and walked back to her room, as Adam stood up and stretched as wide as a cat. 

"Oh, yeah," Belle said, as if continuing their earlier conversation, "and where did _'Lecteur'_ come from? I thought calling people by their surnames died out in the 1960s."

"Is it any better than _'Mr. Detective'_?" Adam parried. "Because really, that was -"

"Idiotic?" Belle teased, smiling. "Sorry, Holmes, but you'll have catch me calling you something downright _stupid_ before you get to live down _'Lecteur'_."

"What are you going to do, pull out _my_ surname? Sorry, Be - _Lecteur,_ " Adam said quickly, pulling on his jacket, "but nobody can pull off 'Darensbourg' and _not_ sound unbelievably pretentious."

"Pretentious," Belle laughed. "So that's what you like to call it."

"What would _you_ call it?"

" _Weird,_ " she smiled, picking up an apple. "Like I said, surnames? Died out in the 60s." Grinning, Belle took a bite out of it, as Adam bent over to tie his shoes.

"Really? Because you call Lumière and Cogsworth by _their_ surnames all the time, and you don't seem to mind then."

"That's different," Belle argued as he stood up and sauntered towards the door. "Hey - you can't win this one, _Darens -_ oh wait, you're right, that _does_ sound pretentious." Adam smirked, Belle scowled, and smiling, they walked away from each other.

Babette, after checking that Belle was definitely holed up in her room and _not_ about to rush out again, scurried over to Lumière's room. She closed the door quietly behind her, and the two men looked up expectantly from the bed.

"Well, _mon ange_? What did they say?" 

"First of all, that was the _most **ridiculous**_ excuse either of you have ever come up with!" Babette admonished. "if you two are trying to be . . . _hush-hush_ about this at all, you have _both_ failed!"

"But _Babette_ , they were getting on so well!" Cogsworth said. "I am positive that is the first time the two of them have been in the same room without sulking or . . . or . . ."

"Screaming _en français_?" Lumiere asked.

"Yes, yes, pre _cise_ ly," the little man agreed. "So, what did they say?"

"Nothing of importance, as far as I can tell," Babette huffed, collapsing gracefully onto Lumière's lap. "They joked, they smiled . . . they're getting on a little better. I think Belle has forgiven him for being such a . . . what was the word again, Lumière?" 

"I have forgotten," he smiled. "But as long as they continue getting along, who is to say that Adam need not be disinherited? Your cousin may yet convince the executor of the will."

"I hope so," Cogsworth sighed. "Now, who would like to go see Mrs. Potts in reception? I find being around so many young people positively exhausting."

\---

"I need your help."

Lumière and Cogsworth were sat at the table, sipping their coffee together, when Adam walked in quietly, back from his shift at the bar.

"P-pardon?" Cogsworth stared at his cousin, mug frozen halfway up to his mouth. A little splash of coffee stung his hand, but he barely noticed. "You need help?"

"Yes," Adam said tersely, swinging a chair around and sitting on it backwards, resting his chin on the top. "I want to do something for Belle - something . . . nice. To apologise for the way I was."

"Haven't you already done that?" Cogsworth pushed his chair back a little bit, setting the cup back on the table.

"Yeah, of course I have," Adam said, "I just . . . I want to do something. Something _more_."

"What did you have in mind?" Lumière asked.

"I . . . I don't know," Adam said, pinching the bridge of his nose, where it had been broken when he was twelve, still getting into fights with the kids at his new school for the mildest of offences. "I'm not very sure what she likes."

"Well, there's always the usual - flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep," Cogsworth deadpanned, ignoring the not-so-subtle glare from his cousin.

"She likes books," Lumiere said pointedly, ignoring Cogsworth. "Do you have any ideas there?"

"There's a second-hand bookstore in Inverness," Adam said after a pause. "I've been there a couple of times last year, it's really good."

"Problem solved!" Lumière smiled.

"But what if she thinks it's a date?" Adam asked, chewing slightly on his lip.

"Do you _want_ it to be a date?" Cogsworth said.

"No!" Adam said. "I mean - not that it would be bad, but we've really just started getting along again. It would be too weird."

"My advice," Lumière said, "wait until after the October break. you get to know each other a little better, you become friendlier, it becomes less of a date. Unless you want otherwise." He raised his eyebrows in a knowing way, and Adam frowned, in a smiling sort of way.

 _Okay,_ he thought. _Not a date. How hard can it be?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own no dialogue from Beauty and the Beast.


	16. Chapter 16

The grey and dreary November sky swirled above them. A sharp, strong wind blustered around every corner, forcing umbrellas inside-out and causing jackets to be huddled closer to bodies. A slight chill in the air misted the windows of the bus where Belle and Adam were sitting, shivering every time the flimsy doors rattled the heat out. Small trickles of rain hurried down the windows, as if even they longed to be inside, away from the weather.

"What a beautiful day . . ." she heard Adam mumble beside her, his legs cramped up uncomfortably beneath him so he could fit into the seat without sprawling into Belle's side. 

"The ducks must be very happy," she smiled. 

"What?" Adam was squished in so tightly he almost had to turn around bodily to look at Belle, and he looked at her as if she _hadn't_ just made a completely awesome joke. 

"Y'know, when you see it's a rainy day, and you go, 'What a lovely day for a duck,'" Belle said. Adam frowned deeper, and she turned back to window. "Never mind," she muttered. "It's just something my mother used to say."

"It's been a while since I heard from a parent about the tales of ducks and their exploits," Adam said slowly, "but I remember being told about that saying, too." He offered a small smile, as if to apologise, and Belle smiled back wider, looking back out the window at the tall old buildings creating an artificial horizon against the sky. "This is our stop," he muttered after a second, tapping Belle's shoulder lightly. They made their way down the dangerously slippery staircase to the lower level of the bus, where Belle thanked the driver quickly as she followed Adam out into the dreary town centre of Inverness.

"Which way?" she asked, turning her coat collar up slightly against the wind.

"Uh . . . left," Adam said, consulting his phone. They tramped along the narrow pavements, almost close enough to bump elbows. Belle looked around at her fellow pedestrians on this most bleak of Sundays, while Adam checked his phone periodically, occasionally saying "Right," or ""Next left," and once "Wrong street." Eventually, he stopped Belle just before they turned a corner. 

"Belle," he said, his hands very lightly resting on her shoulders, "have you ever been to Leakey's Bookshop?"

"No - why, is that where we're going?" she asked, shrugging his hands off her shoulders very slightly. Adam grinned in reply, lowering his hands to his sides. If he was disappointed at the shrug, he didn't show it. "Oh my gosh!" Belle gasped, and a smile broke out bright enough to turn the sky blue, Adam thought. "I've been meaning to look at this place for _ages_ , and we're here -wow, uh, th-thanks! I completely forgot about it!"

"Glad I could remind you, then," he smiled back. His cheeks were beginning to hurt, but he couldn't help it - once Belle started smiling, he found it hard to stop. "Come on, let's go in - I am _freezing_ , and I hear they do great coffee."

"Come on then!" Belle smiled, and small as she was, Adam found himself nearly running to keep up with her. They approached the small, unassuming building, three or four forest green signs declaring it to be Leakey's, and ducked inside just as it started to rain heavy grey drops. Coming in, Belle suppressed a gasp. 

She was completely surrounded by books. They were tucked into nooks and crannys, piled sky-high on wooden bookshelves, stacked in low bundles on the floor - they were everywhere. A large wooden desk with an old-fashioned till was on her immediate left, as a man worked on a computer from more than a few years ago behind it, his fingers tapping on the keys mimicking the heavy raindrops pounding on the windows outside. . A pile of logs almost as tall as Adam was near the centre of the large space, next to a large black stove which was currently off. At the back of the room, a small metal spiral staircase led to an upper level, where Belle could see even more books and a small cafe. She breathed in slowly. The familiar, home-like smell of books and paper drew her in, along with the tell-tale scent of damp wood, and the aroma of cooking food and freshly-brewed coffee. Belle turned back and smiled at Adam.

"I'm going to take a look at the books," she said, "but do you want to have lunch here instead of at Subway like we planned?"

"Sounds good to me," Adam replied, and the two separated to browse to their hearts content - Belle started on the ground floor, working her way through the stacks, while Adam went straight up to the travel section.

Try as he might, Adam couldn't stop looking down at where Belle was softly running her fingers across the spines of the books. Every couple of minutes, he would stop searching the titles of the various books and glance down to find Belle stretching for a book just out of reach, or pulling one out and flicking through it for a little while, or crouching down low to see the titles on the very bottom shelves. He noticed quietly, in a separate corner of his brain, how the little frown that wrinkled her brow ever so slightly meant she was concentrating rather than annoyed, or how she touched the books gently, almost reverently, with the very tips of her fingers, or how a small strand of hair kept coming loose from her ponytail and brushing over the left side of her face. When he caught himself thinking about brushing it aside with gentle fingertips, he deliberately turned away and picked up the first book he saw, practically burying his nose in it in an effort to distract himself. 

Little did he know Belle was glancing up as well, catching glimpses of him out the corner of her eye. She noticed how carefully he held the old maps for sale on the top floor, or how he seemed to search the shelves methodically as compared to her gentle browsing, or how she saw Adam biting his lower lip as he turned his head away from the lower level of the bookshop. _I didn't know he could be so gentle,_ she thought. He glanced down at her again before Belle could look away, and suddenly the two of them were caught in each other's gaze, across the wide expanse of space and paper. 

Belle glanced away quickly, but not quickly enough to quell the tiny thought in her mind that asked, _Are you looking because you're afraid, or because you're not?_ She shook her head, as if the tiny voice in her head could be shaken out, carefully placed the book she was holding back on its shelf, and started towards the stairs. 

"Lunch?" she asked, smiling.

"Lunch," Adam agreed. 

\---

Suprisingly, it had been a pleasant day for both of them. 

They'd ordered lunch, as well as some tea (for Belle) and coffee (for Adam). It was hard, later, for Belle to remember a single lull in the conversation - or at least, an awkward one. What had started as polite chat about their respective schools (Belle had an impressive list of three different primary schools and two different high schools while Adam had spent most of his childhood in the same private school his mother had attended) had quickly turned into a scathing war of words against the new education system, broken only by a strange man at the next table across whistling loudly. 

Just as they were leaving, Belle with a complete works of Shakespeare for only £15 while Adam with a beautifully detailed map of India, Belle had noticed a small copy of Jane Eyre. She had sighed quietly, but she knew she didn't have enough. Adam had glanced between her and the book.

"Oh, hang on," he'd muttered quietly, "I forgot to tip the staff at the cafe. Do you mind waiting at the bus stop while I go back upstairs?"

"No," Belle had smiled, "I'll be fine. Don't be too long, though."

All of this flashed through Belle's mind as she stared in shock at the copy of Jane Eyre lying on her pillow, back at the dorms. A small note was on the front of it, which read in spiky, untidy handwriting, _I noticed you looking at it in Leakey's and I knew from Cogsworth that you'd lost the last copy. Adam._

In the next room, Cogsworth, Lumière and Babette - or Team Cupid, as they had unofficially decided to call themselves - high-fived each other simultaneously. 

"I _knew_ it would work!" Lumière grinned. 

"Yes, it's so exciting!" Babette smiled. 

"My hand hurts," Cogsworth muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leakey's bookshop, by the way, is a real place that you can visit in Inverness. I highly recommend it, even if just for the atmosphere.


	17. Chapter 17

Over the next few days, both Belle and Adam carefully avoided talking about their trip to Leakey's bookshop. Belle was happy to have a new copy of her favourite book, and the fact that it had come from a man she had expected to hate since they first met didn't bother her.

This not-bothering bothered her. 

She didn't really know who to talk to about it. Adam was out of the question - things had just stopped being weird between them, and Belle didn't want to bring it all rushing back. Babette and Lumière had too much of a couple-y vibe about them to know why she was bothered by not being bothered. She could just imagine what Lumière would say. _So you like him, and you are bothered by it? **Ma copine** , if you like him, and he likes you, what is stopping you? Everything will be fine in no time at all!_ Belle didn't have the words to explain how complicated it really was - how she wasn't sure she could ever want _anyone_ after what had happened with George, let alone whether anyone would ever want _her_. Cogsworth would probably offer some sage piece of middle-aged advice and throw in an awful pun for good measure - the other night, when Lumière had been going over the concepts in Handel's _Water Music_ , Cogsworth had actually said, "I _do like Handel - much better than Mozart. As I always say, if it's not _baroque_ , don't fix it!" Lumière had then thrown a cushion at Cogsworth's face._

_For some reason, Resa Gerard seemed like she might understand, which was strange - while she and Belle had gotten along, they weren't really friends - despite the phone call and advance warning about George and her father. Besides, Belle didn't even know how she would start that conversation without giving _him_ away. _I wish there was someone I could talk to about this,_ Belle sighed mentally as she slumped over some old coursework. _Someone wiser, who knows what they're talking about - someone I feel really comfortable with._ Then it hit her._

_"Mrs. Potts," Belle whispered, a smile slowly lighting up her face. The two had become fast friends over the last few months, and Belle wondered absently why it hadn't occurred to her before, as she rushed down the stairs._

_"Hello Mrs. Potts," she smiled, and the older woman smiled back, before putting up the 'Be Back Soon!' sign that had been on the desk the first time Belle had arrived at the dorms._

_"I don't know about you, Belle dear, but I am _just_ in the mood for a nice pot of tea," Mrs. Potts said, leading the way to the break room and clicking the kettle on._

_"You're _always_ just in the mood for a pot of tea," Belle smiled. "It's a good thing I'm always thirsty for tea as well!"_

_Mrs. Potts chuckled, as she rummaged for some cups. "My grandson says I must like tea so much because I'm English - so I don't know what your excuse is, child, but you'd better come up with one before you meet my grandson, Chip, or he'll never understand why you drink it."_

_"Chip?" Belle asked, confused. "That's an unusual name."_

_"Yes, it is," Mrs. Potts muttered. "Chip's mother is an American, they have all sorts of . . . _unusual_ names there. My grandson's name," she continued, dropping tea bags into a pot that had a neon-pink tea cosy over it, "is Charlie. But when his mother was around, she called him nothing but Chip, and even later the boy would answer to nothing but Chip, so Chip he is." In a bustle of movement the teapot, jug of milk, cups and sugar bowl were all on the small circular table, and Belle started pouring the tea. _

_"How old is he again?" Belle asked._

_"Nine," Mrs. Potts said, stirring in the milk. "But listen to me, jabbering on when I'm sure that's not why you came here." Belle shifted in her seat, a little surprised at Mrs. Potts' insight._

_"You're right," Belle said. "It's not why I'm here."_

_She paused as she sipped at her tea, trying to find the right combination of words in her mind._

_"I went out with . . . someone last weekend," Belle finally started. "We . . . didn't exactly have the best of starts, but we're kind of friends now." She took another sip of tea. She wasn't sure why she was being so careful not to bring Adam's name into it. "And, well, we _are_ friends but we're _not_ and it's just stopped being awkward. And . . ." Belle paused. _Come on, Lecteur,_ she thought. "And I'm not really sure what to do because the last time I got close to a guy, he . . . hurt me." Belle sipped at her tea, outwardly calm and serene. But her heart was pounding in her ears louder than the bass of an EDM song and her breathing was ragged._

_"The heart is a mysterious thing, child," Mrs. Potts said after a moment, contemplating her own mug. "And if it's been hurt once, it can be understandable that you don't want it hurt again."_

_Belle sipped at her tea, careful not to let her expression show. She couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed that Mrs. Potts thought George had only broken her heart._

_"I remember being in a similar situation when I was about 40, actually," the old woman continued, blissfully ignorant of the subtext in Belle's words as she glanced back down Memory Lane. "It was 1989, and my son, Harold had just gone off to university. So I came up to Scotland for a little holiday - get away from the empty nest, you know, have a little me-time." She chuckled, and took another sip of tea. "And when I was up here, I met the most . . . _wonderful_ man. He was a mechanic - repairing cars, fixing boilers and whatnot - but he would tell me about how his passion lay in inventing, how he longed to do something that would better the world once he left it." She smiled wistfully. "He was very intelligent, and he also loved what he did, even though he was dreaming of other things."_

_"What happened?" Belle asked._

_"It didn't work out." Mrs. Potts sighed. "I was scared - scared because my husband had left and he was the only man I'd loved till then, scared because I had a son and this new man had no children, scared because I was in my forties and we're always told as women that we're only desirable when we're young. I got a phone call a few months in from home telling me my sister had broken her leg and needed someone to help around the house till she got back on her feet. So I left." She laid the cup gently on the table. "We made all sorts of promises to keep in touch and try things long-distance, but once I was back in England, away from him, I fell back into my old life so easily, it half-frightened me. It was as if he'd never existed." The two women were silent for a moment._

_"My advice to you, Belle," she said, "is this. Don't do what I did - be too scared to go for what you really want. Go for it. I never saw that man again, and it's one of the strongest regrets of my life."_

_"What was his name?" Belle asked quietly._

_"Maurice." Mrs. Potts looked down. "I never found out the rest of his name. He knew so much about me, and when I look back, I knew hardly _anything_ about him - where he came from, his surname, his family. Just what was in his heart."_

_"Some people would say that's what's most important," Belle said, laying her cup on the table with a quiet _clink_. _

_"Some people would have stayed," Mrs. Potts said._

_\---_

_"Hello?"_

_Babette turned to the door. She was in her room, painting her nails a bright neon-green, when she had heard Adam's phone screeching its ring tone as loud as mechanically possible._

_"Oh, hi," she heard him say. "Yes, I'm fine. How are you?" There was a pause. "Okay. No, Cogsworth is doing fine. My roommates are nice - there's two French people and another girl." There was a longer pause this time. Babette carefully picked up her phone and opened her notes app, and began typing in what she'd heard. "You don't need to sound so eager - she's not a piece of meat. She's just a girl." Babette heard Adam sigh deeply, and a screech she assumed was him pulling out a chair to sit on. "I don't know - 16, I think - no, wait, listen, I think - I think I might have a shot with her. Is there any way you can extend the deadline?" Babette almost gasped at the implications of Adam's conversation. "No? But - but it's only three months away, how do you expect me to -" The person on the other side of the phone interrupted Adam again, and Babette heard him sigh again - but differently. It was hard for her to explain how she could tell the emotion behind those toneless puffs of air, but she could. "Okay. Okay. I understand. Thanks for the help, though." Babette heard him hang up, and then walk across to his own room with a heavy, defeated tread._

_Near-silently, Babette crept out of the pod, and dialed Lumière's number._

_"I think we might have a problem, _mon amour_."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Cogsworth's joke, but I'm pretty sure somebody would have killed me if I _hadn't_ worked it in somewhere!


	18. Chapter 18

Team Cupid were arranged around the table, for a change. Cogsworth sat deep in thought over his cup of tea, while Lumière and Babette talked frantically, their words spilling over each other in their haste to get out. 

"He thinks she has sixteen years!" Babette shrieked, momentarily forgetting her English. "This is a disaster - a twenty-year-old would not even think of going with someone so close to the age of consent - fifteen is so close to sixteen!"

"I know, I know, _mon ange_." Lumière was frazzled as well, drumming his fingers incessantly on the table. "But remember that Belle is seventeen, Babette - and consent is given at sixteen here." He paused, pulling at the ends of his fringe in frustration, before continuing. "And besides, she will be eighteen in January. It's not that big an age difference."

"But the deadline is only three months away! That's February!" Babette countered. "I do not know if they will have enough time to prove -" She suddenly broke off, and glanced awkwardly at Cogsworth. _After all,_ she thought, _this is his cousin we are talking about so avidly here. Perhaps Lumière and myself should show some restraint._ But Cogsworth didn't stir, and Babette ploughed on. "There may not be enough time to prove he is true of heart," she repeated. "How does one even do that? Does it depend on how much his family likes her? Because while we like her, Adam didn't at first, and who knows how similar the rest of his family will be to him?"

"Ah, but remember how he defended her," Lumière said. "In _my_ opinion, it wouldn't matter _how_ much they disliked her - seeing Adam so passionate about something should prove that he is serious about her."

"Yes, it was good of him to defend her like that. He wouldn't do that unless he liked her, right?" Babette's eyes seemed to get even larger and deeper, if that was possible, and Lumière scooted his chair over to lay an arm around her shoulders.

" _I_ don't think so,"he said. "Of course, there is no real telling with Adam. What do you think, Cogsworth?" There was no answer. "Cogsworth?"

The couple turned around to look at him. Cogsworth was still sitting deep in thought over his cup of tea. If Lumière had been sitting a few centimetres closer, he would have seen what looked like an unusual moistness around the short man's eyes. 

"I think," he said slowly, "that I should invite everybody to my place for the Christmas holidays."

Lumière and Babette shared a look. "Cogsworth, are you . . . alright?" Lumière asked quietly. 

"Of course I'm alright!" He sat up straighter, and looked at the couple in front of him. "I think it would be a good way to get them closer together, if they both accept - and besides, it would be nice to have a family-like atmosphere at Christmas." _It would be nice to have a family at Christmas,_ he didn't say. "Would you two like to come?" 

"I didn't have anything planned this year," Babette said. "Lumière?"

"What the hell," he smiled. "Count us in, _mon ami_ ," he said as he got up and gave Cogsworth a one-armed hug around his shoulders.

"All right, all right, there's no need to get sappy just because I invited you over for Christmas," Cogsworth said, gently but firmly brushing Lumière away, the smallest smile hovering around his mouth to tell them he wasn't really offended. "Now, let's get back to setting up my cousin."

\---

Meanwhile, Belle and Adam were sitting huddled in a park. Belle had one hand on a hot chocolate from Costa and the other in a book, while Adam sat beside her, letting his coffee warm both his hands. It had been Belle's idea to go out to the local park in November, and Adam had been only too happy to spend more time with her. Now, he kept stealing glances at her when he though she was particularly engrossed in the story. He could see tiny light freckles on her nose that stubbornly remained long after the summer sun had vanished, and the way she frowned ever so slightly when she was reading, and brushed a tiny strand of hair repeatedly out of her face. He almost wanted to sweep it out her face for her.

Almost.

Adam couldn't shake the feeling that while getting to know Belle had been a good idea, doing it solely because of his parents' will was a bad one. But he only had a few months left, and Belle was lovely to be around. He could almost feel himself falling in love with her quite desperately. He wasn't there yet, just on the brink - it reminded him of going to the top of a castle tower when he was smaller, looking over the edge and almost _feeling_ the height sucking him down. That was how he felt around Belle, most of the time. If she let him, and if he let himself, Adam knew that he could love her ardently.

But he wasn't there yet, so he contented himself with saying, "What you reading there, Lecteur?"

"Journey to the Centre of the Earth, Jules Verne," Belle said, turning to smile at him. "And before you ask, no, it's _not_ for my course, I just thought it looked interesting."

"Can I have a look at the back?" Belle nodded, and Adam gently plucked it out of her hand, before dramatically gasping and recoiling in mock horror from the book.

"What is it?" Belle asked.

"Belle, I can't believe this. I honestly _can't believe_ this."

"What!" she asked again, twisting to face him, as Adam kept his eyes fixed on the book.

"You, Belle Lecteur, Miss Have-You-Even-Read-A-Classic - don't read Verne in the original French!" 

Belle burst out laughing, and shoved Adam none too gently over, making him fall onto his side. Adam cracked up as well, laughing for the first time since Belle had met him, his hair fanning out over the dark earth.

"Shut up," Belle smiled, giggles still slipping between her words, as Adam right himself again, grinning wider than a Cheshire Cat. "You honestly had me worried for a second - I thought the book had been ripped or something!"

"Never fear, Lecteur," he smiled, "I wouldn't fake a book being ripped."

"Speaking of books," Belle said, for some reason anxious to keep talking and not delve into one of their famed Awkward Silences (patent pending), "thank you for the copy of Jane Eyre. It was really nice of you, and you didn't have to do it."

"It was my pleasure," Adam smiled, "but I must say I still don't know what it's about."

"Really? You've never even seen an adaptation or had a lesson about it?" He shook his head. "Well, brace yourself, because this might get long," Belle said, and then proceeded to go over in explicit detail the plot, themes and, to quote, "general awesome-sauce-ness" of Jane Eyre, her eyes shining brightly the whole time. Suddenly, as the conversation began to slow down, Belle stopped.

"Adam"

"Yeah?"

"Don't move, there's a bird on you head."

"Really?" Adam frowned, and strained his face in vain to try and see the top of his head. 

"Really - hey, don't move! You might scare it off, and I _have_ to get a picture of this, or no one will ever believe it happened." 

During the whole time Belle was searching for her phone, then taking multiple pictures and showing them to him, Adam could only think of one thing.

He was definitely falling off the tower.


	19. Chapter 19

Belle was curled up on her bed reading, in a desperate attempt to keep her mind off the paper her professor was currently grading, when Babette burst into Belle's room, a heavy string of French bursting eloquently out her mouth.

"Okay, Adam's working, Lumière's got a lecture, Cogsworth is doing . . . something, I'm sure, and it's absolutely _criminal_ that you and I haven't been hanging out as much, so if you had any plans today, I'm sorry but you'll have to cancel, today is Girl's Day."

"Babette -" Belle started, but she was cut off.

"No," she smiled. "Everybody needs some girl time once in a while, and trust me," she said, plopping onto Belle's bed, already at home, "you need some girl time."

Belle sighed. "Fine," she said. "Just, one thing."

"What?" Babette asked.

"We speak French the whole time - I'm really out of practise."

Babette beamed.

"Okay, so, I was wondering, what witchcraft do you use to get your hair to do what you want it to?" Belle asked, gazing in admiration at Babette's brown locks, which were currently hanging loose over her shoulders, but were usually twisted up into impossibly intricate braids that wound about halfway down her back. "Mine can be so . . . limp." She frowned, looking ruefully at the very ends of a lock of hair.

"Are you kidding? Your hair's _gorgeous_ , it's such a lovely colour and so shiny!" Babette dug around in the small washbag she'd brought through, and pulled out a hairbrush and a small army of kirby grips. "To be honest, I mostly use hairspray, but if I use it too many days in a row it makes my hair smell weird and the knots never come out when I brush it. But I think if you styled _your_ hair more often, you might get a sense of what works with it, instead of tying it back in a ponytail all the time and dismissing it as limp."

"I can't really do anything else by myself," Belle said, turning on the bed so the older girl had better access to her hair. "My mother used to put it up in buns and plaits and stuff, but that was . . . years ago." Belle didn't really want to mention how nice she found the sensation of somebody else brushing her hair. Her dad had tried to be both parents, but he never had the same touch Celine had had. "I did try to style it myself, but honestly the most I can do is a messy bun using two hair ties."

"Ah, see, my mum did all my hair for me as well, till I was seven, and then she said, 'Babette, it's time you learned to do your own hair, because goodness knows you'll be no use to this business otherwise!'" It wasn't so much the strange face Babette pulled as the ridiculously low voice she put on that had Belle in stitches. "No, no, no, no, no stay _still_ , you're gonna mess it up!" Babette pleaded, pulling Belle back into an upright position, her shoulders still shaking with silent laughter.

" _What_ was that voice?!" Belle gasped after several seconds, during which she had been stabbed in the head by a kirby grip more than once. "And what do you mean, this business?"

"Didn't you know?" Babette said. "My family runs a hair salon in France - how else do you think I learned to do a milkmaid braid without somebody's help?"

"No, I - I didn't know," Belle said, suddenly embarrassed. She hadn't known, because she'd never bothered to get to know Babette. "I'm sorry I didn't ask," she said, twisting around to face the other girl. "I didn't really want to get to know you, I guess, because I thought I already did. I'm sorry."

"That's alright," Babette smiled, "nothing to be sorry about! But, Belle, if you move your head one more time when I'm trying to do your hair, I _will_ get angry."

"Okay," Belle smiled. "Hey, after this, can I do your hair?"

"I'd rather not - I'm having a 'rest day' on it - but you can do my makeup, if you want?"

"Sure," Belle said. "I'd like that."

Five minutes later, and Belle was loudly praising Babette's skills in the hair department to the heavens. She had somehow manged to put half her hair up into a bun, but left the rest lying down and backcombed it into some volume.

"This is seriously amazing," Belle said, while Babette gleamed at the compliment. "Alright, now your turn," Belle smiled, rummaging around in Babette's makeup bag for some inspiration.

"Okay, so, I'm going to completely ignore whatever _your_ normal makeup routine is and just do it my way," Belle started, which got a laugh from Babette. She was oddly pleased at it - back home, she'd only been found funny when she was trying to be serious, and here she'd only been able to make Adam laugh so far. "I'm thinking, maybe smoky eyes and a bright red lip?" 

"Sounds great!" Babette said. Belle started applying the makeup, and they fell silent for a few minutes. 

Belle fell to wondering. It wasn't the first time this week she'd learned something new about people she thought were almost boringly simple, and she started to think about how there were hidden depths in everybody. Belle was starting to be sure that if she asked Cogsworth, he might say he used to be a trapeze artist in a travelling circus, or Lumière might say that he used to be a secret agent in MI6. An idea started to form in the back of her mind about the looming creative writing assignment she had - something about hidden depths, perhaps?

"Okay, you're done," Belle said after a few minutes, and Babette looked in the little pocket mirror she always had with her.

"Wow, Belle, this is amazing!"

Belle blushed. "Thank you, Babette. I think I might have smudged your eyeshadow a bit -"

"No, it's _perfect_ ," Babette smiled, gently swatting Belle's hands away. "Okay, so what's next? Nails?"

"Sounds great," Belle grinned.

\---

Resa Skyped Belle an hour later, and before long all three girls were laughing and getting along like they'd been the best of friends for decades. For the first time in a while, Belle was happy to be around other girls. It had been so long since she'd had to worry about George getting mad about her not spending every minute of every day with her under his control, and Belle found she was thoroughly enjoying the experience. But just being with Babette and Resa, hearing them chat and laugh and moan gently about their respective boyfriends - Resa was going out with one of George's creepy little friends, Roland Fell - and remembering all she'd ever read about relationships and seen of her mother and father's made Belle realise that maybe what George had done was more than just messed up, but maybe . . . illegal?

She tried not to worry about him too much. Sometimes it worked. Most of the time it didn't. But on a day like today, when she was just enjoying herself with two of her best friends (and quite possibly her only girl friends), Belle couldn't bring herself to worry about the fact that according to Resa, George had stopped looking for her father, and re-started his search for her.


	20. Chapter 20

The term was over, and the Christmas holidays had begun. It took suprisingly little persuasion for Cogsworth to get Belle to join him, Lumière and Babette at his place for Christmas. Of course, what he didn't know was that Belle still hadn't been able to get hold of her father. Her heart ached at his absence, but she knew there was nowhere else for her to go this Christmas - home was out of the question, as George would almost certainly be waiting for her there, and Resa was still too new a friend for Belle to even think about staying over with her. So she went to Cogsworth's place for Christmas, while trying and failing not to freak out about the folio work she'd handed in just before the break. She was surprised to see Adam had joined them - for some reason, Belle thought he would have gone somewhere else for Christmas, seeing as he had never really seemed to like Cogsworth all that much. But it _was_ the holidays, she supposed, and goodness knows she'd put up with worse than a (to him) annoying cousin in the name of Christmas Spirit and Spending Time with the Family. 

They still hadn't spoken about what was going on between them. They went out most weekends, either at Leakey's or some other place in Inverness to watch movies or hang out at parks that got steadily colder week by week. Sometimes she read aloud, sometimes they both stayed in their own fictional worlds. Sometimes they sat so close together in the cinema that she could feel Adam's body heat radiating out towards her, sometimes they were sitting in their own worlds, only the bag of popcorn connecting them. If it had been with any other boy, Belle would have called them dates. But it was _Adam_. He was . . . different, somehow, to what he was when they first met - softer, gentler.

But Belle shook these thoughts out of her head, as she followed Adam to a room near the top of the old, tall building Cogsworth owned. 

"I didn't realise Cogsworth had the money for a place like this," Belle said, after several minutes of a friendly silence.

"It's not really his," Adam said, turning his head to make sure Belle was keeping up. "This house used to belong to my parents, but Cogsworth looks after it now."

"Used to?" Belle asked. "What happened?" There was silence. She would have pressed it further, but Belle could see from a certain stiffness in Adam's jaw that it was a sensitive subject. "Where are we going?" She tried again.

"My old room," Adam said, glancing back at Belle again. "It was right up at the very top, with this sloping roof that I _swear_ I will be too tall to fit under comfortably." They laughed, and Belle was struck yet again by how serious Adam was all the time, and how nice he looked when he smiled. "There's something I want to show you - you've shared so many of your favourite books with me, I thought it was about time I returned the favour." By this time, they were at the very top of the stairs, and in front of a small, whitewashed door. 

"I know _I'll_ fit through this door . . ." Belle started.

"This is a lot smaller than I remembered," Adam huffed, stooping his body so his head was level with Belle's shoulders to get in the room. "And the door is a lot stiffer as we- WOAH!"

Belle shrieked with laughter as Adam fell face-first into the room, turning around with a slight air of disbelief. There was a split second when he seemed more annoyed than amused, but he instantly saw the funny side and started laughing almost as loud as Belle was, struggling to get back up, before accepting that he was just laughing too hard to stand up and falling back to the ground. Belle was bent over double, gasping for breath by the time they stopped laughing.

"I think we laughed a bit more than the situation called for," she said finally, still trying to get her breath back. 

"Yeah, but wasn't it fun?" Adam asked, getting back to his feet and narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the low sloping roof. 

"Yeah, it was," Belle admitted, following Adam farther into his room. It was a good size - not as opulent as she'd expected from a house this large. The bed was small, a child's size still, and Belle had to stifle a giggle at the old-school Lord of the Rings duvet covers. There was a small stack of shelves with dusty paperback books neatly lined up, seemingly undisturbed for goodness knew how many years, and various children's toys scattered across the floor, evidently left there to gather dust from the last time Adam was in this room. But what really drew Belle's attention was the window.

It was huge, practically floor-to-ceiling and nearly taking up the whole of the south wall, with an incredible view of the surrounding countryside. Although it was only five in the afternoon, the sun was already setting, and magnificent purples, glorious yellows, intense scarlets and eye-popping greens and blues coloured the sky and part of the room. She could just see Inverness in the distance - a large lump of darkness and jagged buildings reaching up to the wonders above, the first few street lamps just beginning to switch on. Belle drew closer to the window, almost in a dream. She hadn't seen something this beautiful since she'd left home. 

"It's . . . incredible. It's beautiful," she murmured, still gazing out at the sky.

"Yes," Adam said, looking at her. "It is." He quickly looked out at the view before Belle could see him looking at her. "This was why I begged my parents to let me have this room," he said quietly. "They wanted me to take a room lower down, closer to them, one that I wouldn't grow out of as soon as I was fourteen, but . . . I loved the view." They stood, each absorbed in their own thoughts. 

"What were the books you wanted to show me?" Belle asked, breaking the spell of silence.

"Well," Adam smiled, walking back over to the shelves, "as you can _probably_ tell, I liked the Lord of the Rings a lot."

Belle gasped. "No. Way. I _never_ would have guessed."

"Oh, you tease, but seriously I would _not_ stop reading them." He sat down gracefully, and after a second of searching, pulled out three books with matching covers. "Look, the pages are just about falling out," Adam grinned. 

"If I didn't have about nine books in just as bad a condition, you would not be so smug about that," Belle smiled. 

"Only nine?" Adam asked. "No way - someone who reads as much as you _can't_ have just nine ruined books."

"Weeeell," Belle said, and she saw Adam smile again. "So," she said, picking one up from the floor, "What made you like these so much? Because I have to say, I've only ever finished The Hobbit, and that was last year."

"Are you kidding me? You've _never_ read Lord of the Rings?" Belle shook her head. "You have no idea what you're missing - have you seen any of the movies at all?"

"Nope," Belle said, indulging in the absurd look of disbelief on Adam's face.

"Okay, you've _got_ to read them." He pushed the books towards her, and Belle placed them at her side.

"If I read Lord of the Rings, will you read Jane Eyre?" Belle asked, teasing him.

"Sure," Adam said. "Can I borrow your copy?"

"Wait, you're serious?" He nodded, confused at her reaction. "Sorry, it's just . . . most guys wouldn't even think about doing something like that. They'd call it girly, or boring, or trash."

"Hey, if you like it, it _can't_ be trash," Adam said, looking straight at her. "It's important to you. Just like these books are important to me," he said, gesturing at the shelves of books beside them. "Nothing important to someone can be boring trash."

Belle smiled.

"It's nice to hear that. Thank you." She got up, and walked towards the door. "Well, I'm going to get started with these," she said.

"Wait," Adam said. "I - uh, I -" _I was only being nice to you because you were a way for me to get what I want, but now I think I'm in love with_ \- "I was wondering if you wanted to go to a ceilidh with me on the 26th?" He could see Belle knew that wasn't what he was going to say. But her answer still surprised him, after all the months of friendship growing between them.

"Sure," she smiled. "I'd like that."

\---

Meanwhile, Team Cupid were gathered in the kitchen, although Lumière had fallen asleep, when Cogsworth sighed deeply.

"What is it, Cogsworth?" Babette asked.

"I'm just worried about Adam," he said, blowing on his coffee. "I don't know if he's doing this for the right reasons. I don't know what that says about _me_ , seeing as I'm the one who suggested it to him in the first place. And . . . there's something about the will, something I've known for a while now, that I'm not sure I should tell him."

"Is there a change in the conditions?" Babette asked. 

"No," he sighed. "Nothing about the conditions has changed. This is something I've known about for a while - before I met you or Lumière or Belle. Even before Adam left school." 

"Can you tell us? Lumière and I?" 

"I . . . I'm not sure. No. I can't. I'm sorry." To his credit, he did look sorry he couldn't tell her, and Babette reached out to clasp his hand. 

"That's alright. If this situation changes, and you _can_ tell us, please, do. I wouldn't want you suffering for not saying anything, and I'm sure Lumière feels the same."

"Thank you, Babette," Cogsworth said. "You're a true friend." But still his secret wound its way around him, still Cogsworth couldn't stop thinking about the reason why his cousin had made such a strange and punishing will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're getting into Christmassy chapters here! Yay!! We'll have a good few chapters before we get to the actual ceilidh, as well. Side note - I have never read LOTR. I know, it's tragic. But I have seen the movies and I read The Hobbit a few weeks ago, so I'm not completely clueless :) And yes, we will reveal the motivation behind the will!!


	21. Chapter 21

It was December 19th, and Belle, Adam, Cogsworth, Babette and Lumière were all congregated in the living room after a long day of varying levels of stress and busyness. Belle and Cogsworth were still unable to get their minds away from the first official folio pieces they had handed in at university. Adam and Lumière, being slightly more used to it, were better at hiding their anxiety. Out of all of them, Babette was probably the calmest, but she was also the one who caused the least drama. So Belle, Adam and Babette watched on as Cogsworth and Lumière engaged in their favourite pastime - arguing.

"Lumière, I'm almost _positive_ that cats can't have their feelings hurt!" Cogsworth had a flushed face; his hair was sticking up from pulling it in frustration so many times and his mustache was dangerously close to getting yanked out. "In fact, you know what? - they _can't_ get hurt feelings, because they're _cats_!!"

"You don't know what it's like to be a cat! Always alone, aloof, isolated -"

"THAT'S WHAT CATS ARE LIKE!" Cogsworth screeched. Belle giggled, hiding the sound behind her hand, and glanced at Adam, who was sitting beside her with a grin the size of the Cheshire Cat.

"Or is it what they've been _conditioned_ to be like, my angry friend?" Lumière countered, leaning casually against the back of a chair, his calmness clearly aggravating Cogsworth to the next degree.

"Who's angry? Who's _angry_?" He smoothed down his hair again. "I am _not_ angry. I just think you're extending the imagination a little far to picture yourself as a _cat_ -"

" _I'm_ extending my imagination too much, am I now?" Lumière said, truly riled up for the first time in the conversation. "Well, then - you don't even _have_ the imagination necessary to extend to pretend to be a cat - the most realistic thing you'd pretend to be is a - a little clock! With your little mustache as the clock hands!"

"Well if _I'm_ a clock, _you're_ a - a - a candlestick! Full of hot air!" 

"Cogsworth," Belle said, "I think that's a hot-air balloon." 

The two men turned around suddenly, as if they'd forgotten everybody else was there. They turned back. Lumière looked questioningly at Cogsworth, and Cogsworth shrugged.

"I'm under a lot of stress right now, Lumière," Cogsworth said. "Forgive me for being . . . you know."

"I do know," he smiled. "But only if you forgive _me_ for winding you up."

"Of course, Lumière, old chum," Cogsworth smiled, and the two sat down again.

"Shall we watch something on TV?" Belle asked, and was met with a chorus of yeses. She fumbled around for the remote, and more by luck than judgement, the first thing to come onscreen was a Christmas movie. "Perfect," she said.

"What's this one called?" Babette asked. 

"It's 'Jack Frost'," Belle said. "This guy dies in a car accident but he comes back as this weird snowman . . . thing the next Christmas, and he has to, like, bond with his son or something - I've only seen it twice, I don't remember it very well." She felt Adam stiffen beside her, but when she turned to look at him his face was blank, staring straight at the screen. Cogsworth looked at his cousin, concern filling his face.

On the TV, snow started piling onto Jack Frost's windscreen as he drove along a dark road.

Adam went pale, his eye twitching slightly. Before anybody could even ask what had caused such a change, he leaped up, stalked across the room, flung the door open and ran out, faster than a lion pouncing on its prey. In the stunned silence left by his disappearance, Belle, Cogsworth, Babette and Lumière could clearly hear him racing at full speed up the stairs, to the top floor of the house. On the TV, the snow was completely obscuring Jack Frost's field of vision, and Babette switched it off just as he lost control of the car. Belle could hear a door slamming up the stairs. Lumière was the first to speak.

"What was that about?" 

"Christmas can be . . . difficult, when you lose a parent," Cogsworth said quietly. "Adam had the misfortune to lose both at a young age. He still doesn't like to talk about it, so please, don't bring it up." He glanced at everybody. 

"I had no idea . . ." Belle said quietly. "I never would have kept that movie on if I'd known."

"You weren't to know," Cogsworth said, reaching over and patting her arm. "I mean, how many twenty-year-olds have a deceased parent?"

"I will," Belle said. Everybody stared at her. "My mother died when I was seven." Belle's voice was cold, emotionless, but her fingernails were digging into the palm of her hand. "She . . . she was swimming when we were in France, on holiday, but there was an accident, and . . . and -" Her voice cracked, and Belle folded in on herself. She was aware of Babette holding her close, of hands stroking her hair, and her own ragged breathing as she tried desperately not to cry. She couldn't cry. She had to be strong. After a while, she sat up.

"Do you want some tea?" Cogsworth asked.

"Yes," she said. "I'd love some. But I think I might bring a cup up to Adam as well, if that's alright. Just to check on him."

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Belle," Cogsworth said.

"Will you at least let me try?"

"Yes," he sighed. "You can try. But don't be too downhearted if he doesn't want to speak to you. I know my cousin better than you think."

\---

Belle paused at the final landing before the top floor, a cup of steaming tea in each hand. She could hear the sound of quiet sobbing, and the odd half-choked cry. Belle knew that if _she_ was the one who had run off in front of all her friends she wouldn't have wanted to be found crying in her room later on. So, after kicking off her pumps, she gently kicked the wall three times, to give Adam a little warning. The sobbing sound stopped almost immediately, and Belle slowly went up the rest of the stairs, making sure to walk slowly for the same reason she had kicked the wall. When she did eventually reach the top floor, Adam was sitting outside his room, with his back to the door. His eyes were red, and Belle noticed anew the intense blue of his eyes ( _shame on you, Belle, could you THINK something like that at a time like this!?,_ she thought). 

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he said back, so quiet she could barely hear him. She offered him his cup, and he took it silently. She sat down next to him, holding her own cup between her hands. Belle was acutely aware of Adam's breathing; how he was almost silent except for the times when he took a larger breath than usual, sounding like a sigh. She could sense rather than see his chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm, feel rather than hear when he opened his mouth for that deeper breath that came every thirty seconds or so. The heat from his left arm was comforting against her right arm, as they sat pressed together on one side, aligned from shoulder to elbow, separating again until their thighs touched, knees knocking gently against each other with the gentle wobble that comes from having legs fully stretched out. He lifted up his cup of tea with his right arm, and Belle saw his Adam's apple bob as he drank. He finished the sip, and sniffed quietly. Belle took a small drink of her own tea, using her left arm, and carefully, slowly, moved her right hand into the small space between their hips where Adam's hand was lying, so that the back of her hand was touching the back of his. She swallowed the tea in her mouth, feeling it spread a little warmth through her body. Adam's hand was slightly rough and chapped against her own. He turned to look at her, and when their eyes met, he slowly turned his hand around, until his palm was cupping the back of her hand. He took a shaky breath, and equally slowly, Belle turned her hand so that it rested in his. She squeezed gently.

"I lost my mum when I was seven," she whispered. "There was an accident, and . . . I don't really want to tell you it."

"I was eleven," Adam whispered back. "But it was Christmastime, and that just - that just makes it worse. Every year."

"Every year," Belle whispered back. She squeezed his hand again. He squeezed it back.

"I don't tell people about this very often," Adam said after a while. The tea was gone in both cups.

"I've only told four people," Belle replied. "You, Cogsworth, Babette and Lumière. Granted, that was because where I'm from everybody already knew," she said, with a hint of a smile. Adam smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Do you want to go back downstairs?" Adam asked.

"No," Belle said. "Let's just . . . wait a while."

When Cogsworth found them an hour later, they had both fallen asleep, still hand in hand.


	22. Chapter 22

Adam woke up with a start. Cogsworth was gently shaking his shoulders, and Adam was instantly aware of the static feeling in his right leg, the hair on his face that was slightly itching his nose, and Belle's weight as she slept on beside him, leaning on his shoulder. He glanced down at the sleeping girl, gaining awareness of her arm wrapped around his, her hair pressed against his face, and her hand, still clasped in his, as Adam's still-tired body caught up with his already wide-awake mind.

"What is it?" he asked Cogsworth quietly, trying not to wake Belle. 

"Are you alright?" He glanced up at Cogsworth, surprised. The older man carefully sat down opposite Adam, and he looked at him with all the concern of a father. "You just ran out of there so quickly. I didn't realise it was still so painful for you." Adam shifted slightly. 

"It's always painful," he said quietly, so quietly that Cogsworth nearly din't hear him say it. He reached across and put a hand on Adam's knee, gently. Adam patted the other man's hand once, and then shifted his knee so that his cousin's hand fell useless onto the floor. He turned to look at Belle, so he didn't have to see the mild look of surprise and hurt on Cogsworth's face. 

"How are the two of you getting on?" Cogsworth asked after a moment. "Do you think the specifications in the will are going to be completed?"

"I hope so," Adam said quietly. "It's weird - I . . . I know I started this trying to use her, but I think - I think I actually like her now." He brushed a stray lock of hair behind Belle's ear, and he sighed quietly. "I mean, I  _really_  like her. I'm going to tell her at the ceilidh."

"That's good," Cogsworth said, smiling slightly. "Well, I'm going back downstairs. If you need me, or Babette or Lumière, you know where to find us." The little man walked slowly back downstairs, strangely happy that his cousin was doing so well. He sat down next to Lumière in the kitchen, and smiled at the French man with tired eyes. "You know," he said quietly, "I think it's going to turn out alright. I honestly think that everything is going to be fine."

"We can only hope so,  _mon ami_ ," Lumière said, gently patting Cogsworth's arm. "Where did you say Adam was taking her again?"

"Just out to a ceilidh," Cogsworth said. "It's on the 26th, so I'm not sure what we'll be doing for Christmas - Adam finds it difficult, and after what Belle told us earlier -"

"Cogsworth, you worry too much," Lumière interrupted. "Believe me when I say it's going to be fine. It's Christmas! What could possibly go wrong?"

\---

Five days later, Lumière would answer his question with a surprisingly small list of disasters.

None of them had bought a turkey, so Cogsworth decided to cook a chicken for Christmas lunch. It only took an hour for Adam to realise that the smell coming from the kitchen wasn't a good one, and they narrowly escaped having to phone the fire department. 

"And that is why Cogsworth doesn't cook anything," Adam had announced after he'd liberally sprayed the chicken with the contents of a handy fire extinguisher. 

"Surely it can't be  _that_  bad," Belle had protested. 

"He tried making pancakes for my twelfth birthday, and ended up breaking four plates and setting off the fire alarm," Adam said. "Twice."

"I didn't know you remembered that," Cogsworth had said. His eyes were slightly softened.

"The horror will be sealed onto my mind until the day I die, Cogsworth," Adam had smiled, tossing a charcoal-stained dish towel to his cousin to put in the washing machine.

After that disaster, Adam had fixed macaroni cheese for all of them, and though it certainly wasn't the most traditional Christmas meal any of them had ever eaten, they all agreed it was the best mac and cheese. Lumière and Babette had exchanged their gifts earlier in the privacy of their room (Belle wasn't sure she even wanted to know what it was they couldn't share with the rest of the friend group) and so everybody else gave and received in front of the small, fake Christmas tree in the middle of the living room with fibre optic needles that glowed and changed colour.

Belle got a curling iron from Babette, a study planner from Cogsworth, a bottle of French wine from Lumière ("Not to be drunk until you are eighteen, though,  _petite amie_!") and from Adam, a copy of 'Journey to The Centre of the Earth', in French. Cogsworth got a razor from Babette, a bottle of aftershave from Belle (they had bought their presents together), a pocket watch from Lumière, and a wooden photo frame from Adam ("I remember you said you had some photos you wanted to put away, so -" and here he was cut off in a hug from Cogsworth). Adam was gifted with a set of silver cufflinks from Cogsworth in the shape of a lion, beeswax-themed cleaning products from Babette ("I know you do all the cooking," she had said in rapid-fire French, "but it's always good to know how to clean as well!"), a mug emblazoned with 'May The Fourth Be With You' from Lumière, and a blue hairdryer from Belle ("This is so you don't have to keep borrowing my pink one!" "Hey! I'm secure enough in my masculinity to use a pink hairdryer!" "I know, but it has the most  _awful_  clash with your hair."  "True."). Belle, Cogsworth and Adam gave Babette and Lumière various couple-themed gifts - Cogsworth gave them towels, Adam gave washbags, and Belle gave Babette new perfume and Lumière some aftershave.

Later on, everybody happy, everybody cheerful, Belle, Adam, Lumière and Babette tried to teach Cogsworth some French Christmas carols, with results like "Vive a vognt, vive a vongt, vive a vongt heever" and "Boo de nedge ay joudelawn". With such mispronouncing, it was a very, very long time until the five of them got to bed.

"Adam," Belle whispered later on, as he walked past her door on the way up to his room, "just so you know, I'm pretty excited for tomorrow night."

"Me too," he smiled. "Merry Christmas, Belle."

"Merry Christmas, Adam," she smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cogsworth's hideous mis-pronounciation is from Vive Le Vent, the French Jingle Bells. The specific lines he messes up are "Vive le vent, vive le vent, vive le vent d'hiver" and "Boules de neige et jour de l'an."


	23. Chapter 23

It was the evening of the 26th, the day Adam was meant to take Belle to the ceilidh, and Belle had been forcibly seated in the chair by her dresser thirty minutes ago by a very determined-looking Babette. She had been forbidden from looking at the window, the mirror or her phone while Babette did her hair, and Belle's nerves were starting to tingle from the combined suspense of the looming 'date' and whatever Babette had done to her hair. 

"Can I at least ask why you're getting that massive curler-thing out?" Belle pleaded.

"To curl your hair," Babette said mercilessly. The stern aspect was ruined in the next second, however, when she leaned down and hugged Belle tightly from behind. "Oh, Belle, you're going to look absolutely _beautiful_!" Belle patted Babette's arm gently, and Babette straightened up the start the curling of Belle's hair - which, being both thick and long, was no mean feat. 

"Thanks, Babette," she said, tapping her fingers urgently on her knee. If her hair had been up in a ponytail, she would have started to tug on it again - old habits die hard, after all - but as a very hot curling iron was being applied to the back of her head, Belle thought that perhaps that wasn't the best option in terms of nervous fidgeting. The two girls sat in silence for a few minutes, as Babette focused on not burning Belle's neck, and Belle focused on not getting burned. 

"Sooo," Babette said eventually. "You and Adam, huh?"

"What?" Belle started, a blush violently staining her cheeks. "No, no, no - we're not - no, we're - I -"

"Oh please, you _so_ are," Babette interrupted. "Everyone can see it."

"There's nothing to see," Belle said firmly. "I think," she added quietly. From the slightly chuckle behind her she knew Babette had heard, and Belle's face burned even redder. 

"So I take it my fabulous skills aren't the only reason you wanted me to do your hair," she smirked. Belle groaned slightly. "No, no, no, head up or I'll burn your scalp," she scolded.

"Babette, what am I going to do?" Belle asked. "I . . . I think I like him. Like, a lot. Which is weird for me, 'cause my last relationship was . . . not good," she summarised, "and Adam is really nice, and sweet, but I guess I'm just . . . scared." She sighed. "Ugh, I'm so pathetic."

"Hey," Babette said, pausing in the curling to look at Belle head-on. "You're _not_ pathetic. You're the least-pathetic person I know." She turned her attention back to Belle's hair once she had pulled a smile out her mouth. "You could try getting a third opinion on it - why don't you call Resa, she'd be good at this sort of thing."

"I tried yesterday, but I couldn't get her," Belle said. "Reception's a nightmare in the Highlands, and even when I used the landline I couldn't get anything except her voicemail. I was just trying to wish Merry Christmas," she sighed. "I couldn't get my dad either, which sucks. I literally haven't spoken to or seen him since September. I miss him so much." Babette patted Belle's shoulder quietly as she started curling the left side of Belle's head. "I don't like that it's been so long since I heard from him, but if something was wrong, Resa would call me." _She said she would, anyway,_ Belle thought. "What about you?" she asked Babette, changing the subject. "How are your family this Christmas?"

"We've fallen out," she said tersely. 

"What about?" Belle asked tentatively.

"They don't like me and Lumière." Belle could see Babette's jaw set out the corner of her eye. "I finally get up the courage to tell them I'm seeing somebody, and because we're living together and we like to go out to the clubs fairly often and he enjoys a good bottle of wine they're just condemning him! It's not - it's not fair that they hate him so much!" Belle glanced up to see Babette crying rivers down her face. "Why do they hate him so much?" she managed to get out before a wracking sob clawed its way out her throat. Belle reached up hurriedly and grabbed Babette's arm, pulling the crying girl down into an awkward hug. 

"Hey," Belle said, "it'll be fine. Lumière's one of the nicest people I know. Your parents will come around." Her inner English teacher cringed at the adjective she'd used, but it seemed to help Babette. 

"Thanks, Belle," she smiled wetly. "You're a really good friend, you know." She finished curling, pinning and brushing the rest of Belle's hair in companionable silence, before gesturing to Belle it was done.

"Can I see it?" she asked.

"No!" Babette cried almost instantly. "You have to wait until your dress and makeup are on!"

"Alright," Belle grinned. "But if I'm not allowed to use a mirror. you're going to have to help me with this dress."

"Okay," she agreed. 

Twenty minutes later, Belle could hardly believe she was looking at herself in the mirror. 

Babette had done something to her hair that was similar to the style she had put it in a few weeks ago - it was partly up and partly down - but tonight, what was down had gentle curls throughout, and her hair looked softer and thicker than she remembered it being. The dress she was wearing seemed to suit her hair perfectly as well. It was fairly simple - knee-length, with little ruffles on the straps, and tiny rose details on the waist, straps, and sweetheart neckline. Belle had mainly picked it for the deep yellow colour, however - like sunshine on a long, languid summers day. It brought out the gold strands in her hair that appeared when the light shone through it, and warmed her skin tone ever so slightly. All she had on her feet was a simple pair of matching, sparkly gold flats - she'd learned not to wear heels to a ceilidh back when she was fourteen, at the first secondary school dance she'd ever been to, and her last (apart from the dance in 6th Year). 

"Somethings missing," Babette said slowly. "Wait - I've got it!" She ran off before Belle could even ask what she needed, and reappeared seconds later. She slid a red rose into Belle's hair, so it rested just above her right ear.

"Babette, this is . . ."

"Amazing and incredible, I know, you don't have to thank me," she joked. Belle turned and stuck out her tongue, but she softened into a laugh.

"I need to go downstairs and see Adam - I think we need to go soon. Can you pass my coat?"

"Sure," Babette smiled, "but don't put it on until he's seen you like this."

"Fine," Belle said, and she flew down the stairs, only to stop suddenly five steps from the bottom. Adam was standing there, clearly just about to go upstairs, but he seemed frozen into place. He looked at her face first - Belle was touched by that, strangely, but she knew so many men who would start at the bottom and work their way up - and slowly took in the rest of her outfit. She took the opportunity to ogle at Adam a little herself. While he hadn't gone all-out with a kilt, what he was wearing seemed to fit him even better. He had a pair of simple navy shoes and trousers, complementing a light blue shirt that had the top button undone. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he had a simple watch with a leather strap on his left wrist. Even his hair, normally so wild and free, had been tied back for the occasion. 

"Hi," he said eventually.

"Hi," she smiled. 

"You look . . . amazing," Adam said, looking straight into her eyes. 

"Babette did most of the work, but thank you," Belle smiled.

"No, I mean it," Adam said. "You're beautiful." They paused for just a second too long, and Belle started to feel butterflies attacking her stomach.

"We should get going," she said eventually. "We're going to be late."

"Yeah, let's go," Adam agreed. "Cogsworth lent me his car for tonight, so no public transport today."

"Aww," Belle groaned, "but that's the best part! Getting everybody staring at you weirdly as you sit on the bus with your black waterproof covering the dress, trying to find change in a purse that is too small to hold anything except a phone - I just can't believe it." She was gratified with a smile like a sunbeam from Adam, and the two of them quickly made their way outside. 

Almost as soon as the door closed, Team Cupid emerged from their relative hiding spots - Babette further up the stairs, Lumière from the living room and Cogsworth (with a large crash) from the cupboard under the stairs. 

"This is it! Tonight's the night!" Cogsworth could hardly contain his excitement, rubbing his hands back and forth eagerly.

"She feels it too - she was talking to me about it while we were getting ready," Babette added, skipping down the stairs to relieve her excitement. 

"You know, sometimes I think we're too invested in their lovelives," Lumière started. "But then I remember _c'est le lendemain de Noël_ , we're home alone, and Badam is too cute _not_ to happen."

"Really, _mon amour_?" Babette asked. "Ship names for our friends?"

"Yes," he said, drawing her over to kiss her forehead.

"You two," Cogsworth said in mock disgust. "Get a room."


	24. Chapter 24

They arrived at the hall in a flurry of excitement and trepidation, Adam (rather sweetly, Belle thought) taking her coat and hanging it up for her. The ceilidh was already in full swing, with couples spinning merrily all around the room, and the two of them managed to squeeze into the side of the hall without causing much disruption. Belle's hand trembled minutely as it rested a few centimetres away from Adam's, and she glanced up at him to see he was already looking down at her.

"Do you want to do the next dance?" he asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard above the band playing at top volume.

"Yes," Belle replied, flashing a brilliant smile at him. "I think this one's nearly finishing anyway," she continued, and she was proven right by the final chord played by the band mere moments later.

"Up next, the Gay Gordons," the leader announced with a flash of a smile. Belle and Adam made their way to the middle of the floor, and assumed their relative positions - side by side, Belle's left arm stretched out across Adam's front, loosely holding his left hand, and Adam's right around Belle's shoulder, holding onto her other hand that was held up at shoulder level. She could feel his body heat radiating out next to her, and Belle was acutely aware of his hands clasped around hers. She could feel every vibration of his fingers, however subtle, and she quietly squeezed his right hand - the one only ten centimetres away from her neck. He pressed her left hand in return - the one mere inches away from his leg. Belle took a shaky breath, and turned to say something to Adam, but the music began to play, and she was caught up in the dance. 

It was a very simple dance, really - not as complicated as the Reel for Jeanie, or as exhausting as a Strip the Willow. But still, every time they met in the classic waltz formation for those four beats, Belle's heart skipped a little at the feeling of Adam's hand around her waist, steering her out the way of the other couples. There was a moment, maybe halfway through the dance, when she slipped on her shoe and nearly fell, but Adam pulled her up before she even hit the floor, grinning at her in response. By the time the dance had ended, they could hardly keep their eyes off each other. 

"I'm going to get some water, I'll be right back," Adam said, and he swiftly rushed over to the refreshment area. He gulped the water down, and thought with awe about Belle as a partner. She was so beautiful, he thought, the way her hair fanned out as he spun her around, the definite pressure of her hand on his shoulder during the waltz, the way she had looked at him after he caught her from that near-fall. Any reservations he'd had about telling her his feelings tonight vanished, and he rushed back to Belle to invite her to the next dance.

"Would _you_ like to dance this one?" Belle asked him when he returned.

"Sure," he smiled. "What is it?"

"The St. Bernard's Waltz," Belle said, and grabbing his hand she pulled him out onto the dance floor. They arranged themselves quickly - his hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder, their free hands resting lightly together. The music started, and they began to dance with the few other couples on the floor. 

Adam kept looking down at Belle, instead of around the floor to check they weren't in danger of bumping into someone. He just couldn't get over how incredible she looked tonight - not that it was the only reason he was in love with her. He stumbled a little, accidentally pressing Belle a little closer to him, his hand moving further around her waist so it rested somewhere near the small of her back. To his everlasting surprise, Belle didn't pull away, but instead wound her arm even further around his shoulder. She glanced up at him, and nearly came to a stop at the look in his eyes. They weren't just happy, they were . . . loving. Her instinct was to blush and look away, as it had been every time they'd locked eyes over the past couple of weeks, but there was something abut the fact that they were dancing so close, in a room where nobody knew them, after months of getting to know each other, that made her hold his gaze. She tightened her grip on his hand a little, and breathed in deeply. She could feel Adam's hand splayed against her back, the fingers not grasping, but not holding her loosely either. Almost without realising it, the two of them had stopped doing the steps, and were swaying slowly on the spot. She moved her thumb a little, so it brushed against the sensitive hairs on the back of Adam's neck, and she could almost hear his sharp intake of breath, close as they were. He squeezed her hand gently, and started to bend down slowly, as if he was half-afraid she'd run away. Just as slowly, Belle tilted up her head, and started to rise on her tiptoes. 

Suddenly, the musicians loudly played their final chord, snapping Belle and Adam out of the moment. Belle thumped back down onto her heels, but she made no move to disentangle herself from Adam, and he didn't move either. 

"Would you like to . . . go outside for a minute?" Adam asked a little out of breath, although they had been standing perfectly still for a good minute.

"That would be great," Belle said. "Can I get my coat, though? It looks a little cold outside."

"Sure," he smiled. "Let's go."

\---

There was a small balcony at the back of the hall that was normally filled with smokers desperately trying to fuel their nicotine habit. When Belle and Adam made their way onto it, however, somebody had strung fairy lights all around the railing in an attempt to make it festive, and the light dusting of snow on the concrete floor meant most people were inside, where it was warmer. They stood side by side, arms resting lightly on the railing, both reluctant to say what was happening between them. Belle found her courage first.

"So . . . during the waltz," she started, her cheeks already flushing at the memory. "What nearly happened between us . . . I wouldn't be opposed to it. I actually haven't been opposed to it for a while." She smiled slightly, and turned to look at Adam, expecting to see her expression mirrored on his face. 

Instead of the blush and smile she expected, however, there was confusion. He straightened up a little.

"I can't do this anymore," Adam sighed. He pulled his hair out his ponytail, and it fanned over his shoulders, like the rays of the setting sun upon the ground before it disappears. "Belle, I - I've been lying to you." He glanced at her face, and it was as if she'd been shot. He forced himself to keep looking at her, to not be a coward and look away.

"About what?" she whispered. 

"When I started being nice to you it wasn't because I wanted to - at least, not at first." He sighed, wishing he felt even the slightest bit less like he was about to throw up. "It was because there's a clause in my parent's will that says I need to prove myself true of heart, and receive another's in return. If I don't do this by my 21st birthday, I'll inherit nothing." Belle stared at him, horror masking her face. Adam ploughed on. "I thought that your heart would be the one I could receive in return. And for months - _months_ \- I didn't say anything. I knew it was wrong." He hung his head now. He didn't think he could take anymore of Belle staring at him like he was a monster. "I knew it was wrong. But I - no," he stopped himself. "I don't have any excuses. What I did . . . it was unforgivable." He looked up again, but Belle's facial expression hadn't changed. 

"Belle," he whispered after a long silence, "please say something." Suddenly, her phone rang out, startling them both.

"It's Resa," Belle whispered. "I need to take this." She turned away from him, answering the call, and Adam's heart nearly broke at her body language, so cold and passive. Like when they first met.

She gasped, and crumpled over the balcony railing as if she'd been shot. Adam rushed over, grabbing her by the elbows, helping her up again, frantically saying, "Belle, what is it? Belle?" She hung up the phone, her hand shaking slightly, and deliberately shrugged herself out Adam's arms.

"My father is sick," she whispered. If Adam had thought her face was horrified before, it was nothing compared to what disfigured it now.

"Let me help you," he said instantly. "Can I get train tickets, pack a bag, get you some -"

"No!" Belle shouted, cutting him off. "No," she repeated, at a normal volume this time. "The best thing you can do right now, Adam Darensbourg, is to _leave me alone_." She slapped him hard across the face, causing him to gasp out in pain, and as Adam gingerly felt his throbbing cheek, Belle rushed out across the dancefloor. By the time Adam made it across the hall himself and out into the street, she was long gone. All that was left of Belle was the rose from her hair, trampled and wilting on the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A video of the Gay Gordons can be found here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QyoSIQocKI) and one of the St. Bernard's Waltz here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aZNTwha2UsM) for those of you who'd like some reference as to what Belle and Adam dance to.


	25. Chapter 25

Thoughts swirled round in Belle's head like birds in flight as she sat on the train, completely dazed. _Adam's been lying to me - Papa's sick, he's ill, he needs me - How long has it been an act? - Did George do this to him, is he back in town? - No wonder he's been so nice after how we started off - Why didn't Resa say what was wrong with him, why did she sound so scared? - How can I ever talk to him again after what he did? - Am I going to have to stay at home for weeks looking after Papa? - We nearly kissed, I can't believe we nearly kissed - Has he broken his leg, has he fallen off a cliff, has he had a heart attack? - What did he mean by a will? What kind of will has a clause like **that**?_

She handed her ticket over to the inspector mechanically. As the train pulled out the station, she thought she saw a tall, red-headed man in a blue shirt run towards the train. Belle twisted round in her seat to get a better view, but the train had already turned the corner, leaving the station out of sight. She settled back down in her seat, confused emotion twisting in her gut. _It probably wasn't him, anyway,_ she thought. _He wouldn't do something like that if he'd been lying to me about all those months of friendship._ A tear started to bead up in her eye.

\---

Adam slumped in defeat, running a hand through his loose hair. The train had pulled out of the platform just before he'd reached the ticket barriers, and he staggered back over to the little metal chairs that lined every station he'd ever been to, gasping for breath after his run from the ceilidh hall to the station. He put his head in his hands, and shook it slightly. Adam wasn't sure _why_ he'd thought it was a good idea to run after Belle, or why he'd wanted to do it - to apologise some more, maybe, or possibly to _make_ her accept his help with her father - but all he knew was the devastation crashing through his body after he'd missed her. He had no idea when or even _if_ Belle would come back after what had happened. _You're such an idiot,_ he thought. 

His phone started buzzing in his pocket, as if on cue, and he saw it was Cogsworth calling. Glancing at the station clock, Adam saw it was the time he'd said that he would try to get home. He answered the call.

"Adam!" Cogsworth said, a smile evident in his voice. "I take it you're getting home soon, but if you and Belle want to stay out a little longer, that's perfectly alright -"

"Belle's gone," Adam said leadenly. 

"Gone where?" Cogsworth asked, slightly confused. Adam braced himself for what he had to say.

"She's gone home. She got a phone call from one of her friends about her father - he's ill, I think. She had to go right away."

"Why didn't you go with her?" Cogsworth asked, and Adam could almost see him get his parent-lecture-face on.

"Because . . ." Adam sighed. "Because she told me she liked me, and I . . . I told her about the will." Cogsworth gasped, but otherwise was silent. Adam ran his fingers through his hair again before he continued. "She ran off. She was so angry - I haven't seen her like that since . . . since we first met."

"Do you know what this means?" Cogsworth said slowly. "The executor won't have much sympathy for you -" He broke off in the middle of a sentence, and Adam knew he was pinching the bridge of his nose, making his little glasses press up against his eyes. "Just one question, Adam. Why?"

"Because . . ." Adam said slowly, ". . . I love her."

\---

Later that night, Belle finally got off the train at her local station. She'd called Resa a few hours earlier, after she'd stopped crying, to let her know she was coming, and Resa promised to meet her at the station. True to her word, Resa was there waiting, along with her dad and Mr. Domarchy, the bookseller. Mr. Domarchy held out a small flask of coffee, and at Belle's dubious look, said gently, "Don't worry, I didn't make this - it's from Costa." Belle took the flask and drank a little, before turning to Resa.

"So, where's my dad? What happened?" She hoped Resa's dad couldn't see her trembling fingers.

"Katriane," Mr. Gerard started. If Belle hadn't thought this was serious before, the use of her real name, the one on her birth certificate, made the situation even graver. "Katriane," he continued, "I found your father last night in a snowdrift a good few feet high. He was unconscious, and his skin was blue in places. He'd evidently walked a long way. His ankle is broken, which is probably how he couldn't get out the snowdrift once he fell in. It's a good thing Resa and John were with me," he said, gesturing to the other two, "or I doubt I would have gotten your father back to my house."

"How is he now? Has the doctor been to see him?" Dread was pooling in Belle's stomach, and she gripped the coffee flask so tightly she was sure she was burning her palms.

"Belle," Resa said gently, "he's in hospital, he's in a stable condition." Something about the way she said it, her eyes refusing to meet Belle's for more than a second, only made Belle's unease grow.

"What do you mean, a stable condition? What's happened to my dad?" The three helpers shared a look, and Mr. Domarchy bent down, so he was face-to-face with Belle, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Belle, I don't want you to panic too much, but it's not good news." His bright green eyes caught her brown, and Belle could see his sympathy. "Your dad has severe hypothermia, and suffered some sort of blow to the head. We -" He broke off for a second, gathering a breath. "We've not been able to wake him up yet. I'm sorry."

It was all too much. Adam's confession, the hours of journeying, and now this. Belle dropped the flask of coffee, the hot contents spilling out over the concrete ground, as she collapsed in a heap, Mr. Domarchy and Resa's father rushing over to pick her up. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was the blinding flash of a streetlight, searing itself onto her eyes like a sheet of lightning, like the sun, like an angel.

\---

At the same time, many miles away, Team Cupid sat around the kitchen table in Cogsworth's house. Nobody had spoken for long time.

"Shouldn't it be enough?" Babette said in a subdued manner, a ghost of the bubbly, vivacious girl she usually was. "That he loves her?"

"She has to love him in return, _mon ange_ ," Lumière said, curling his fingers around hers. " _N'est-ce pas_ , Cogsworth?"

"Yes," he replied distractedly, still staring blindly at a knot in the table. "'If he can prove he has a true heart, and receives another in return by his twenty-first birthday, then he shall inherit all,' that's how my cousin put it." He sighed. "I wish she'd never changed the will."

Lumière and Babette looked up at Cogsworth, who was still oblivious to them both. She glanced at him, and he nodded at her.

"What do you mean, you wish she'd never changed the will?" Babette asked. "Who changed it? And why?" Cogsworth froze, realising what he'd just said. He paused, considered, then swallowed what was left of his tea and turned to face Babette and Lumière.

"I probably should have told you this a long time ago - I probably should have told Adam, actually, but never mind that now." He looked at his two friends over his glasses, stern as a judge, and continued. "What I'm about to tell you has been secret for many years. As far as I'm aware, Adam doesn't know, and neither does the executor of the will."

"Who _is_ the executor of the will?" Babette interrupted.

"Adam's maternal grandmother," Cogsworth said. "Although honestly, I'd be surprised if she hasn't figured it out by now."

"My cousin married very young," Cogsworth began. "Hannah was lovely, kind, and very intelligent. Vincent, Adam's father, was very much like Adam - proud, quick-tempered, but very loyal, passionate and caring. Now, I don't know the exact specifics of what was going on, but I do know that by the time Adam was about seven or eight, Vincent had mistresses. Several, in fact." He paused to take another sip of his tea, and continued. "When Hannah found out, she was heartbroken. The two of them filed for a divorce, but it was coming up for Christmas, and neither of them wanted to upset their son at that time of year. You have to understand," Cogsworth said, "Hannah and Vincent loved Adam very much. They just weren't good at being married to each other. Anyway, Hannah had been given primary custody, all the papers were ready to be singed after New Year's, and Hannah and Vincent were having a last Christmas together married. But Hannah . . . well, she was worried about her health. Her side of the family - and, of course, mine as well - has a history of heart disease, high blood pressure, high cholesterol - everything. So she decided to change the will, in secret, in case something happened to her. She didn't want Adam to grow up to be like his father. She knew he was better than that.

"So, before she left, she altered her will. But then . . . the accident happened. It was a car crash on the A9, on the way down to see me, and everyone else on Hannah's side." Cogsworth sipped again, seeming to draw strength from the cup in front of him. "Because no divorce or custody papers had been signed yet, the will appeared in both of their names. The executor knows most of this, and she's guessed the rest. Adam -"

"-is right behind you." Team Cupid spun around in their seats, taking Adam in. His face was a mixture of betrayal, misery, and mistrust. "So it's true? Dad _was_ having an affair - no, _affairs_ , and you never told me?" His voice wasn't angry, but rather broken. "You _knew_ for ten years the reason behind this will, and you never _told ___me?" Cogsworth started to get up, but Adam cut him off with one look. "I know I have no right to be angry about this when I've just done the exact same thing - and I'm not," he added hastily, "but why couldn't you have told me?"

"I don't have an answer, Adam." Cogsworth said. 

"I'm going upstairs, and please, please don't follow me." Adam turned out the door and climbed up the stairs. Babette, Cogsworth and Lumière remained perfectly silent, frozen in place. They were silent long enough to hear Adam eventually reach the top landing and close his door quietly. They were still silent as they heard him, slowly, start to cry.


	26. Chapter 26

When Belle came to, it was to sun streaming in through a window and a strange room. The bright rays illuminated the small room perfectly, and Belle could see lots of pink, fluff, and glitter. She turned her head to the left, wincing slightly at the pain in her neck, and was met by a photograph of the Gerard triplets - Resa, Helen, and Celeste. The bright banner behind them showed it was their 18th birthday, and the sisters had their arms wrapped around each other, bright smiles on all their faces. In the far right of the photo, Belle noticed a girl with dark hair, facing the triplets but side-on to the camera. Her hair covered most of her face, but you could see she was smiling. _It's me,_ Belle realised. _I completely forgot I was at that party. But that's me in the photo._ Resa - Belle could tell it was Resa from her smile - had a hand outstretched towards Belle in the photo. 

"You're up!" Belle turned her head to see Resa in the door, relief on her face. "I was starting to worry," she continued. "Dad said after the faint wore off you just fell asleep, but it still seemed an awfully long time to me."

"How long _was_ it?" Belle asked, slowly getting out of Resa's bed. "I feel halfway between well-rested and dead."

"About 10 hours," Resa said. "You must have been exhausted." Belle smiled limply. "Come down to breakfast, get something to eat. When was the last time you ate, come to think?"

"Seven last night," Belle said after a moment, "just before we left for -" She broke off abruptly, blushing. 

"Ooh, Belle, do you have some _gossip_ you haven't shared with me?" Resa crowed. She flung an arm around Belle's shoulders. "Tell me all about when we get downstairs."

"Actually, I'd rather tell you now. In private." 

"Sure," Resa said, sitting down on a cushioned chair next to the bed. "So, what's up? What is so secret that you can't share it with my dad or sisters?"

"Oh - are Celeste and Helen here?"

"Don't change the subject, Belle," Resa said, raising an eyebrow. "And yes, they're home from uni for Christmas. Now, I am _literally dying_ to know what it is that got you so red thirty seconds ago, so SPILL!" Belle laughed, but not without a strange twinge in her gut. It was almost painful to think about Adam after what had happened, but Belle didn't know how much longer she could keep it bottled up.

"So," Belle started, "you remember Adam?"

"Tall, ginger and moody? Bought you a book? Sounds familiar."

"Yeah," Belle said. "Well, last night we . . . went on a date, I guess."

Resa gasped. "That's so great!" she grinned, shaking Belle's arm slightly from excitement. "So _that's_ what got you blushing like a telephone box." But at the look on Belle's face, Resa's jubilant grin subsided. "What happened?" she asked. "Why didn't he come down with you?"

"I told him I liked him," Belle said, "and he told me -" She broke off. Belle wasn't sure she could finish the sentence.

"He doesn't like you back." Resa said. "Oh, Belle, I'm sorry." She leaned over and hugged her, gently stroking Belle's arms. "I mean, this is, what the first guy you've gone out with since you and George broke up? No wonder you're so upset." 

"No, i's not that," Belle said. "He . . . he was only trying to get to know because because it . . . benefited him. There was a will, and a clause - it's kind of complicated," she said. "But, yeah. I like him. And he lied to me for months. And now I don't really know what to do."

They were silent for a few moments, the two girls hugging, when Resa said, "Speaking of George, did you ever go to the police about him?" Belle turned around quickly, nearly hitting Resa in the face with her hair. 

"What do you mean? Wh - why would I go to the police about George?"

"Belle, despite what you may think, I'm not an idiot." Belle pulled away, and started fiddling with her hands. "When me and Celeste and Helen went looking at your house there were _axe marks_ in the table, in case you'd forgotten. Your dad may be . . . unusual, but he's not insane." Belle looked down, her cheeks burning from shame instead of embarrassment. "And remember when you were going out with George? After a month you stopped hanging out with us _at all_ \- and when we _did_ see you, you were always making an excuse about going to George's house." Belle started digging her nails into her palms. She knew what Resa was saying was all true, but it was one thing to _feel_ something was wrong, and quite another to hear somebody openly condemning it. "And that night, at our eighteenth," Resa said, gesturing towards the photo, "you spent more time clinging to George's side like some abused animal than actually, you know, having fun!" She stopped, and grabbed onto Belle's hands. Belle glanced up into Resa's face, and the two girls stared at each other. 

"I didn't - think - anyone would believe me," Belle choked out. Tears started pouring down her face. "I was - so - _stupid_ -"

Resa pulled Belle into a fierce hug, Belle's head pressed against her shoulder, their arms wound tightly round each other. Belle's small body shook violently with the force of her sobs, like a tree during a wild storm. Resa held onto her friend tightly, rubbing her hand on Belle's back in soothing circles, as Belle grabbed onto Resa's sweater and cried into her shoulder. Unseen by both girls, Celeste and Helen popped their heads round the door, wondering what was taking their sister so long. Seeing what was going on, however, the two triplets quietly backed out the room and down the stairs, to let their father know that Katie Lecteur had finally realised what George Castin had done. 

Slowly, Belle began to calm down. Eventually, her sobs slowed to tears, and her tears dried to nothing. The storm over, Resa and Belle drew apart. 

"You weren't stupid, Belle," Resa said gently, squeezing her hand, "you were abused."

"I know that - now," Belle said shakily. They smiled weakly at each other, and got up to go downstairs. 

"By the way, are your sisters still going to call me Katie? I hate Katriane as a name - it's so stuffy."

"Belle, they've called me 'The Weird One' since we were five. They are _definitely_ going to call you Katie." Belle groaned, but Resa laughed. They hurried down the stairs, and the first thing the triplets said, in unison, was "Hi, Katie!"

"Hi Celeste, hi Helen," Belle said, laughing. "How are you?"

"We're good," Helen said. "Come on, sit, you must be starving." Belle joined them at the table, and the four girls started helping themselves to cereal and juice. When the triplets were younger, everyone had found it hard to tell them apart - in fact, they were practically indistinguishable until their eighteenth birthday. After that, Helen pierced her nose and Celeste dyed her hair neon pink, cutting it into a bob as well. Resa was the only one who had done nothing else to her physical appearance except pierce her ears. Now, looking at the sisters squabbling good-naturedly over the Cheerios, Belle found herself missing Babette, Lumière and Cogsworth. While Babette was a morning person, Lumière and Cogsworth were not, and Belle often woke up to them arguing over the correct way to brew coffee.

"So, Katie," Helen said, snapping Belle back to attention, "you feeling better now?" 

"Helen!" Celeste snapped, pinching her sister's arm. 

"What?" Helen said, glaring at her. "She was a wreck and I'm making sure she's ok!"

"Could you be a little more _tactful_ about it, though?" Celeste muttered. "I know if _I_ was upset like that I wouldn't want somebody just -"

"Honestly, I'm fine now," Belle said. Helen and Celeste looked up at her. "But thank you for asking." Helen mouthed something like "I told you so," to Celeste. Celeste stuck her tongue out at her sister. 

"Hello girls!" Mr. Gerard, already fully dressed, approached the table, and the four girls greeted him. 

"Mr. Gerard," Belle said, walking over to him, "I'd like to see Papa today. Is that alright?"

"Of course, Belle," he replied. "Can you drive?"

"I'll take her," Resa said, and was flashed a grateful smile by Belle. 

"Then it's settled," Mr. Gerard said. "You'll go after breakfast."

"That sounds great," Belle said. "I hope he's alright."

Resa reached up and placed her hand on Belle's shoulder. "He will be," she said reassuringly. "I know it."

\---

Adam stared at his bowl. He had been doing this for the past twenty minutes after finishing his breakfast, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. He heard a door slam upstairs, and then Cogsworth's familiar tread on the staircase. When his cousin did eventually reach the kitchen, Adam was nearly mad with impatience. 

"Adam." 

"Cogsworth."

The two men looked at each other. Cogsworth had a large box in his hands, which he gently laid down on the table. 

"I'm not mad," Adam started. "I'm really not, just . . . a lot of stuff happened last night." 

"Yes," Cogsworth said. "But I do need to apologise. I shouldn't have kept it from you for so long. I . . ." He trailed off, placing his hand on the back of the chair. "Have you heard any word from Belle yet? Did she make it down alright?"

"Honestly, I have no idea," Adam said, dragging his fingers through his hair. He winced as they caught on a knot - his hair was still unbrushed. "I'm worried about her, but I think if I called her now I might just make things worse."

"That's probably true," Cogsworth said. "You know Belle very well."

"Maybe," he sighed, and the cousins were silent. 

"Adam, about the will -"

"Cogsworth, you don't have to apologise again, I accept your -"

"No, listen." Much to Cogsworth's surprise, Adam did in fact stop talking. "The only reason I didn't tell you about Hannah and Vincent was because I didn't - I _don't_ ," he corrected, "want you to think any less of your father. He loved you very much. They both did." 

"I know," Adam said quietly. "Did you mean what you said last night? You thought I hated you because we were going to see you when we crashed?"

"Yes," Cogsworth said. "That's why I thought you started to hate me."

"Cogsworth," Adam said, reaching his hand out, "I don't -"

"Good morning Adam, Cogsworth," Babette smiled, gliding over to the coffee pot. "How are you?"

"Considering what happened last night, surprisingly well," Adam said, placing his hand back by his side. "What about you?"

"Fine," she smiled. "Cogsworth?"

"Tired," he said. "I used up all my energy trying to find you this morning and give you this," he said, pushing the box towards Adam. 

"What's in it?" he asked. 

"Some things of your parents. Wedding photos, Hannah before she went into labour, them decorating this house, that sort of thing." Adam looked up at his cousin. 

"Cogsworth . . . where did you _find_ this?"

"Spare room cupboard. I couldn't sleep last night."

"Thank you," Adam said, getting up to hug Cogsworth. The smaller man shrank back slightly. Adam paused, hurt flickering across his face for a second, before he smiled, clapped Cogsworth on the shoulder, and grabbed the box. "I'm going to have a look at these upstairs," he said. 

"And I'm going to lie down on the sofa," Cogsworth announced. "That bed has to be the most uncomfortable thing I've ever slept in."

"Cogsworth, before you go," Babette said, the coffee pot making an unholy amount of noise and covering her words from Adam, "have you heard from Belle at all?"

"Not a word," he said, his face sinking. "I tried calling her this morning, but it went straight to voicemail."

"Don't worry," Babette said, giving him a hug. "If something was wrong, she would have phoned."

"I know," he sighed. "Leave some coffee for when I wake up, please."

"Sure," Babette smiled. As Cogsworth wandered off to the living room, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts, until she found the one marked 'Resa Gerard.' She hesitated for a moment. She'd only spoken to this girl once, over a skype conversation. But Belle wasn't answering her phone, and this was Babette's only other way of contacting her. Babette made up her mind. 

"Hi, this is Resa, of the Gerard's! If you're hearing this, I'm probs away doing something busy, so leave a message!"

"Hi, Resa, it's Babette. We taked once before, over Skype. Anyway, I'm one of Belle's roommates, and we're kind of worried about her. Please, let us know if she's ok."

Babette hung up with a sigh. There was nothing else she could do. But as far as Team Cupid and Adam were concerned, it was as if Belle has dropped off the face of the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I love Resa Gerard? Because she is the friend that everyone needs. Especially Belle.


	27. Chapter 27

Belle had been sitting by Maurice's bed for what seemed like an age. The bright midday sun pierced the room aggressively as the steady beeping of a heart monitor assured Belle that her father, the only living relative she still had, was indeed alive. After an hour or so Resa had tactfully left to give Belle some alone time with her father, stating she was off to get some coffee. That had been thirty minutes ago. Belle reached out and squeezed her father's hand gently, careful to avoid the IV drip. It was strange to see her father lying motionless in a bed, the man always busy, with at least two things in his hand, ink on his fingers, glasses propped up on his head and a never-ending list of supplies hanging out his trouser pocket. She didn't normally see him as still or silent as he was now. Even in his sleep Maurice was getting things done, muttering aloud at all hours of the night. The only other time Belle had seen him do nothing was during the first six months after her mother died. 

"You can't die," Belle whispered. "You _can't_ die, Papa. You have to wake up. You _have_ to." She had cried too often in the last day and a half to have any tears left in her, but still Belle felt the familiar lump rise in her throat, and she laid her head helplessly against her father's side, dropping the hand she had been holding. Dry sobs wracked her small body, and Belle felt as though the fear and pain of the last twenty-four hours were trying to claw their way out of her through her lungs, and heart, and throat, and stomach, and -

A gentle pressure on the back of her neck made Belle stop suddenly. It was warm, and large, and as she shifted slightly, she felt the cool metal of a wedding ring on the nape of her neck. She looked up, and saw her father staring at her. His eyes were confused and hazy from the drugs, and he hadn't moved in any other way save the hand on her neck, but Belle knew he was awake.

"Papa!" she gasped, and she flung herself around Maurice's neck, his bristly moustache rubbing painfully against her cheek. Belle pressed her face up against her father's shoulder, and underneath the hospital stench that invaded everywhere, she could still smell _him_ \- that mixture of aftershave, pepper and iron that always brought her back home. Maurice's hand patted her back awkwardly, due to the angle Belle was sitting at, and with reluctance she moved back to his bedside. She kept her hand in both of his, however. She had almost forgotten how big they were - big enough to hold her entire hand. 

"Belle," he sighed. "What - what am I doing here? How long have I been - how did you get back?"

"You fell into some snow," Belle said calmly, "and you broke your leg. Mr. Gerard found you, two days ago, and you've been in the hospital since then. You were in a coma," she said lightly, trying to ignore the look of concern that came over Maurice's face, "and I've been here since 9 am. I got the train down as soon as I heard."

"Belle," he repeated. "Oh, my brave girl. You must have been so worried." She smiled weakly in response, and Maurice squeezed her hand. A doctor strolled in, and unseen by Belle and Maurice, relaxed slightly, checking off a box on her clipboard.

"Mr. Cobbs," she said warmly, "I'm glad to see you're awake." Belle turned around, and the doctor stood at the foot of Maurice's bed, facing the two of them. "This is your . . . ?"

"Daughter," Belle supplied. 

"Your daughter. Well, Miss Cobbs, Maurice, I'm sure you both have questions -"

"Sorry, um, but it's Miss Lecteur. Actually - could you just call me Belle? It's a lot simpler." The doctor's confusion didn't show on her face, and she took the correction in her stride.

"Alright, then - I'm sure you both have questions about what happens next. The most important thing is that Maurice, you will probably lose consciousness again quite soon, but it's nothing to worry about. This sort of thing is fairly common with coma patients." Sure enough, Maurice's eyes were closing again. As soon as Belle noticed, she caught Maurice's gaze, and maintained eye contact with him until they were closed once more.

"You said this was common with coma patients?" Belle asked after a moment.

"Yes," the doctor continued. "Recovery will be gradual, but he'll be able to stay awake for longer each day until he's back to normal. The broken leg, however, will take a little longer." She flipped through some pages on her clipboard, until she found the one she was looking for. "The good news is, it was a clean break and there were no complications. It'll take about 6 to 8 weeks to be fully healed, and even then, your dad will need to be careful. Is he still working?"

"Yes," Belle said, "he's a mechanic."

"Alright," the doctor said. "Do you live here, or is there somebody who can keep an eye on him once he gets discharged?"

"I'm sure some friends of the family will look in on him," Belle said. "I'm at university."

"Okay," the doctor finished. "I'll talk to the two of you more later, but for now, he's out of danger and will need to stay here for a while recovering."

"Thank you," Belle said as she left. 

Resa swayed into the room, two cups of coffee in her hand. "Alright, Belle, I know your favourite is tea but they didn't have any, so I got you a - hey, what happened?" Belle couldn't contain the smile on her face, and as she took the hot drink from Resa she burst out with the information.

"Papa woke up!"

Immediately Resa put her coffee down and flung her arms around Belle, and the two friends swayed a little, overbalancing slightly. 

"That's so great!" Resa grinned, and the two of them sat back down again. "I'm going to call my dad and let him know. Is it okay that your dad's still asleep?"

"Yeah, the doctor said that's normal," Belle said. She started sipping on the cappuccino Resa had bought her, but was still aware enough to spot Resa's frown. 

"Got a voicemail from an unknown number," she said quietly. 

"Who do you think it is?" Belle asked. Resa looked her disdain at Belle, and called voicemail.

"It's one of your friends," she said. Anticipation fluttered up in Belle's stomach. _How did Adam get Resa's number? Why is he calling her? What does this mean?_ She tried to appear calm, and took another sip of the coffee nonchalantly. "The girl - Babette," Resa said, hanging up and deleting the message. As quickly as it had surfaced, the strange feeling in her stomach disappeared, drowned out by disappointment. Belle chose not to analyse the reasoning behind that feeling.

"Belle," Resa said, "she sounded pretty worried - did you tell your friends where you were going at _all_?"

"No," Belle said quietly. "My phone died on the train down, and I haven't had a chance to charge it up, and I've been worried about Papa." Resa nodded solemnly. 

"You should call them. I know you probably don't want to hear this, but you're not the best at keeping in touch with your friends."

That hit a nerve, and Belle knew Resa was right. She sighed. 

"Can I borrow your phone?"

"Sure," Resa said, handing it over to her. Belle made her way out the room, and found a quiet area of the stairwell to make the call. Because of the shifting, low-income nature of Maurice's job, Belle had been trained from an early age to memorise important contacts. So she entered the home number of Cogsworth's house from memory, and stood nervously tugging on her hair as the phone rang.

"Hi, it's -"

"Belle?" 

She froze. 

How could she have forgotten?

"Belle?" the speaker asked again. "Is that you?" Hurriedly, she hung up the phone, heart pounding. 

"Oh, no," she whispered.

\---

Adam sat on his bedroom floor, back to the door. The box containing his parents' old photographs was in front of him, still unopened. Opening the box felt a little like taking the plaster off his nose the first time he'd broken it. He knew it was going to hurt. It would open up areas of himself he'd tried to keep closed for years. But deep down, he knew it was the only way he'd ever be able to heal properly. But still, Adam was afraid. 

He reached out, all of a sudden, and lifted the lid off the box. The first picture he saw was his parents on their wedding day. His mother had on a simple, clean-cut dress - lace sleeves, no train, and minimal embroidery on the bodice. He remembered seeing it in the attic one day, when he was twelve and looking for an old football. He'd spent the rest of the afternoon angry and upset - angry at his parents for dying, himself for being so upset after almost two years, and Cogsworth for being, well Cogsworth. Then, it had faded to yellow years before, and the lace had deteriorated beyond repair from moths and spiders. But in the photograph, it was as clean and new as the day Hannah had finished stitching the final seam. His father was there, too - the two of them had evidently just come out the church, and he was looking at Hannah as if he'd never seen anything more beautiful. Adam swallowed the lump in his throat, and flicked through some more photos. The next twenty or so were all of their wedding - Cogsworth made several appearances, sporting a mullet and minus his moustache, as he'd given Hannah away on her wedding day. His Grande-mere and Grand-pere were there too, and Adam smiled slightly at the sight of them. Vincent's parents had died before Adam was born, but from the sound of things they had loved Hannah and her side of the family just as much as their own.

After the wedding photos came images of the house. Adam had seen these often as a little boy, but he still enjoyed looking at his parents, with their . . . _questionable_ eighties fashion choices, and paintbrushes in their hands. He'd heard often from Cogsworth that although his parents had the money for painters and other odd-jobbers, they'd wanted to do most of it themselves. He knew that his bedroom was the last room in the house they had painted, and Adam remembered Vincent telling him they were under a severe time pressure, because Hannah was pregnant.

The next set of photographs he uncovered were very familiar to Adam. The top one was a heavily pregnant Hannah, wrapped in Vincent's arms, sitting in a hospital bed. Oddly, the last person to look through them hadn't organised it well, because the photo beneath was a sonogram. He flicked over to the back, and saw in achingly memorable handwriting, _Adam. 12 week scan._ He smiled again, lightly tracing his sonogram's head with his finger. He picked up the next photo, containing a newborn Adam, looking up at the camera with a confused smile on his face. Adam actually chuckled out loud at that, and noticed the tufts of red hair on his younger self's head. Following the newborn picture was Adam in a christening dress, Adam and Vincent on holiday in France, Adam and Hannah at the local park . . .

After he had thoroughly examined those, Adam found his school photos. He passed over them almost completely - he'd seen these many times before, and for Adam, school was a place he wanted to forget more than remember. But then, right at the bottom of the box, he saw a single piece of lined paper, folded in half with his name on it. _To Adam, for your 21st birthday,_ it read in his mother's handwriting. Adam paused, then unfolded the letter. He was jumping the gun a little, he knew, but he _couldn't_ leave that letter in the box unread. He just couldn't.

 _My dear son,_ the letter said.

_Happy birthday! I'm jotting this down in the hospital, not long after meeting you properly for the first time. What hair you've got, my dear! Vincent - Dad, I should say - thinks you'll grow out of it, which I think is a pity, as it suits you so well. You're very loud, my little man, and I think that's a trend that's going to continue, if you're going to be anything like your father! The nurses said you're strong, too, which is a blessing and a joy. It's maybe a little strange, writing a letter to you for the future, but once they took you down to be cleaned up I just had the strangest urge to get all my thoughts down on paper. I look forward to reading this over your shoulder in twenty-one years, shaking my head at my young foolishness and watching you read about yourself. Truth be told, wee man, I hope you'll still have red hair when you're twenty-one - even if it's just so you bear some resemblance to me. You look an awful lot like your father just now - you have just the same jaw, and the same way of jutting your chin out when you're not happy! Vincent says it's ridiculous expecting a baby to look like anyone, and that right now you look exactly like yourself. He does agree with me on the hair, though. If I ever remember this letter, I'll drag it out in front of the two of you and we'll see how similar you two look then._

_I'm getting awfully tired now, my little man, so here are some last scribblings from a very worn-out mother. May you always be kind. May you always be happy. May you always be loved. And may you always have red hair!_

_Love for always, from now to your 21st, ___

_Your Mother._

Adam wasn't sure at what point he'd started crying, but all he knew now was that he couldn't stop. He folded the letter back up tenderly, and tucked it at the bottom of the shoebox, piling all the photographs on top. He leaned his head back against the bedroom door, and tried to remember how long he'd been up in his room. Was it hours, or only a few minutes since his cousin had handed him the box? Adam breathed slowly. He got up stiffly, and started to leave his room, planning to give Cogsworth the photos to look at himself. The landline started to ring, and Adam called "I'll get it!" down the stairs.

"Hi," an all-too-familiar voice said, "it's -"

"Belle?" Adam said, rooted to the spot.

"No," the woman replied. "It's me, Adam. Your grandmother."


	28. Chapter 28

"Hi, Gran," Adam spluttered. "Um . . . why are you calling me?"

"It's your birthday soon," she said in a clipped tone. "I wanted to see how you were."

Adam understood instantly. She wanted to know if anything had changed since the last time she checked up on him, back when he'd still had hope. Back when he still had Belle's respect.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. Before his gran could comment on his response, Adam continued. "We had a nice Christmas. Me, and Cogsworth and some friends from uni all stayed at the house this year."

"Cogsworth and _I_ ," she corrected, and Adam rolled his eyes. "And did you really?"

"Yes," Adam said, understanding the weight behind the question. "Cogsworth found some old photographs yesterday; I've just been having a look through them."

"Oh," she said. They stood in companionable silence for a second, connected by the phone line.

"I forgot they got married in France," Adam said. "How did you get there? I know you hate flying."

"We took the ferry," his gran said. "Your cousin was seasick, and your grandfather and I weren't too well ourselves. Your mother flew, along with your father." Adam chuckled slightly. He could almost see his grandparents and Cogsworth coping on the ferry to France. "Adam," his grandmother said, "be honest. How are you getting on? With the girl?"

"It's . . ." he sighed. "It's a little complicated right now."

"Alright," she said, almost sadly. "I understand."

"Do you want to talk to Cogsworth?" Adam asked. 

"No," she said. "I'll see you on your birthday. Only a few weeks now." She hung up suddenly, leaving Adam with a box of memories and an earful of dead air. 

"I know," he muttered. "I know." He placed the phone back on the charger, and continued down the stairs to find Babette and Lumière in the kitchen, sitting companionably over a pot of coffee. They were muttering together in French, and Adam thought he heard Cogsworth's name.

" _Discutez-vous de mon cousin?_ " Adam asked. The two started up suddenly, but Lumière relaxed almost instantly.

" _Oui_ , Adam," he said. "But he's asleep right now, so we can talk in English."

"Alright," Adam said, joining them at the table. "Have you heard from Belle at all?" 

"Not yet," Babette said, "but I'm sure we'll hear from her soon, Adam. I left a message with one of her friends, and I've tried calling her phone, but she's not picking up."

"I see," Adam said quietly. "And how's Cogsworth? Why are you tow talking about him behind his back?"

"We're just . . . worried about him, I guess," Lumière said, taking a grim sip of coffee. "He's going through lot right now, worrying about you, Belle, his degree . . ."

"Yeah," Adam murmured, guilt stabbing through him. He knew he was too hard on his cousin in the past, but was it _really_ affecting Cogsworth so much? His thoughts swirled murkily in his head, and he was on the point of going to see his cousin.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Babette lunged for it, answering with a quick "Hello?"

"Who is it?" Lumière asked.

"Belle!" Babette cried, relief puncturing the shout with a smile, and Adam relaxed back into his chair. _She's okay, ___he thought, that one idea running through his mind. _Belle's okay. She's safe._ Adam could see Babette turn towards him out the corner of his eye, and hand the phone over to him.

"She wants to talk to you," she said, and Adam took the phone - too quickly to be casual, but too slowly to appear desperate - which he was.

"Hi, Belle," he said.

\---

Belle slowed her breathing. _Stupid girl,_ she thought, _HOW could you have mis-dialled? How could you call HIM instead of Adam by mistake?!_ She slowly sank down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, Resa's phone still clasped between her hands in a grip of iron. Carefully, she put in the _correct_ number for Cogsworth's house, and Belle re-dialled.

"Hello?' Babette said suddenly, and Belle was filled with guilt at letting her friends go so long without getting in contact with them.

"Hi, Babette," she said.

"Belle!" she cried, and Belle could hear the relief in Babette's voice like a tangible thing.

"I'm sorry I went so long without saying anything, but my phone died and i had to see my dad and then I fainted -"

"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay, we've all been worried sick, Cogsworth was considering getting a train down there himself, and Adam's been like a ghost -" Babette chattered over the top of Belle's explanation.

"Adam? Is he there?" Belle asked, a strange feeling in her gut. "Can I speak to him?"

"Yeah, he's there," Babette said, and Belle waited impatiently while the phone traded hands on the other side of the line. 

"Hi, Belle," he said, and the sound of that voice brought all the emotion of the last two days back to her. Babette hadn't been lying - he sounded tired and scared. But overall, Belle heard relief in his voice. Relief that she was okay.

"Hi," she said. She could hear his steady breathing through the phone, and she marvelled that he could sound so calm while _her_ heart was going faster than the speed of sound. 

"How's your dad? What's wrong with him - is it dangerous?" At that question, any doubts Belle had about her feelings for him melted away. He was worried about her - she knew from Babette, and from what she knew herself. He had gone almost two days without hearing a word from her. And the first thing he asked after was her father, which she'd mentioned only in passing, when he was surely agonising over whether she forgave him or not for lying to her for months. Her heart felt like it would burst from all the love it had to contain. Because she knew, now, after months of friendship and almost-moments, that she was in love with Adam. That one question settled it for her. But just as quickly as she realised it, Belle buried the feeling deep within her. _Don't be ridiculous,_ she admonished herself. _You're not in love with him, you're just grateful he's asking after Papa and not being an idiot like he was last time you spoke!_

"He's . . . recovering," Belle said after only a second's hesitation. "He's broken his leg, so that'll take a few weeks to heal, and he was unconscious for two days, but apart from that he's okay."

"I'm glad," Adam said warmly. "Well, not glad that he's ill, obviously, but glad that it's not worse than it is."

"Thank you," Belle said. They paused, and Belle felt that feeling rise up again. The feeling that told her as long as they forgave each other and moved on, it didn't matter what had happened between them. _No,_ Belle caught herself sharply. _You like him yes, but remember what he did! You can't rush into a relationship after finding out it was based on lies! Forget about 'love' for now, and try to be his friend, Lecteur, or I swear you'll regret it almost as much as you regret George._

"I'll probably be coming back soon," she said. "Just as soon as Papa can get around in crutches, or whatever the hospital will give him."

"That'll be good," Adam said. "I'll miss -" He cut off suddenly.

"Yes?" Belle asked, hope stubbornly rising in her despite all she'd just warned herself against. "What'll you miss?"

"I'll miss . . . having you around." Joy bubbled up in Belle, threatening to overflow, and a smile bloomed on her face. "As a friend," he added hurriedly. "Because you're my _friend_."

She froze. The bubbles had turned to lead, and were dragging her down. The smile fell off her face, but Belle fought to keep her tone light and cheery as she ended the conversation as quickly as possible. She hung up the phone, and buried her head in her hands, a pain to dull for tears spreading through her.

Miles away, in the kitchen of his house, Adam mirrored Belle's pose. It almost physically hurt him to single Belle out as a friend when he wanted nothing more than to be with her, but he remembered the hurt on her face when he told her about the will. How was starting a relationship based on lies _ever_ a healthy thing to do? 

_Besides,_ he thought to himself, _after what I did, it's not like she could ever love me back._


	29. Chapter 29

Maurice's recovery from his broken ankle and three-day coma was faster than the doctors had at first hoped. Only a week after Belle first saw her father in the hospital, he was as energetic and full of life as he had ever been. Due to his age, the hospital gave him a wheelchair to move around in instead of crutches at first, but it wasn't long before Maurice's good health convinced the hospital staff to allow him to wear crutches. Belle helped him around at first, and they soon got all caught up on each other's lives since they had last seen each other. Maurice had been all around the country - at first doing his customary annual search for new parts for the garage and his inventory. However, he decided around October to keep travelling despite already having everything he needed for the coming year.

"Why, Papa?" Belle asked. 

"I missed you," he said plainly. "I didn't want to go back home to that dark, empty house, not without you there to brighten it up a little."

"Mr. Gerard and Mr. Domarchy would have come over to talk with you if you'd told them you were lonely," Belle protested, despite Maurice's slow shake of his head. However, she was secretly glad he hadn't come home at his usual time. From what Belle learned from Resa and Maurice's separate accounts of the time that had passed since Belle left, George had been lying in wait for Maurice to come home, since he knew her dad's work patterns well from years of watching them. Then he'd wrecked their house, which had promoted Resa to call Belle right before Adam rescued her from those men on the street, and George had subsequently started stalking Maurice around the country. Thankfully, her father had remained ignorant of George's presence around him. But something nagged Belle about the circumstances Maurice had been found in, and about two weeks after he woke up, she decided to ask about it.

"Papa, can I ask you something?"

"What, Belle?" Maurice asked, peering over the edge of his half-moon glasses as he paused in reading an instruction manual on the proper construction of a rotating fan.

"Do you remember anything about the night you broke your ankle?" Maurice folded the corner of his book down, took off his glasses, and sighed quietly.

"My car had broken down, and since it was late at night I didn't trust myself to fix it alone and get safely to the next stop. So I got out the car, when another one stopped right behind me. It must have been tailing me for a while, only I didn't see the headlights for the snow. Anyway, I though whoever was driving might be able to make sure I got back on the road safely, so I waited for them to get out the car. I couldn't see it properly - the headlights were shining right in my eyes, and as you know, Belle, that is not proper road safety." Belle was too on edge to roll her eyes as she normally did at her dad's obsession with de-constructing every single action whenever something went wrong in life. Instead, she pressed his arm gently, and they shared a smile.

"So, eventually the driver got out - and he was mighty strange, I'll tell you that now. I never saw his face, and he stood between me and the headlights. But he hit me straight over the head, and before I fainted I think he must have thrown me into that snowdrift I was found in." He shivered slightly at the memory, and Belle wrapped her arms around him. 

"It's okay Papa. You're fine now."

"I know, Belle. But that's all I know about it. The police were very frustrated, but there's honestly nothing more I remember. Except . . . no."

"Except what, Dad?" Belle straightened up again, her stomach tingling with apprehension. Maurice's face was twisted into a scowl of confusion, and she heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath.

"Well, you may think I'm strange for saying this, but there was something about that man that seemed a lot like Alan Castin's boy. Except he's been gone for months - your friend Resa said so herself. What's his name again? James? Geoff?"

"George," Belle said quietly. 

She had never been so glad for visiting hours to be over.

\---

As Maurice's ankle healed, Belle and Adam's relationship began to heal as well. They spent more time together on Skype, texting, and even the occasional phone call - although after a few seconds of hearing the other's voice they almost immediately lapsed into an awkward silence broken only by pained attempts at conversation. Belle wanted to be more than Adam's friend, so much that it scared her. But she knew that rushing into a relationship after the turbulent few weeks they'd just shared wasn't a good idea. Still, it didn't stop her dreaming about him at night, or wondering if she'd ever be able to kiss him like she nearly had at the ceilidh. 

Adam was just as hung up about Belle. He missed her desperately - her smile, her laugh, her sense of humour, the weird arguments they had - everything. The only thing that made his waiting even a little bearable was the fact that she was coming back to Dunbroch for the start of the new term later that day, and she was bringing her dad with her. Unfortunately, he had to work that evening.

"Can you tell her I'm _really_ sorry I can't make it" he asked Cogsworth for the hundredth time that hour.

"I'm not sure," Cogsworth said slowly. "It seems to be a very complicated message. Would you mind repeating it one more time for me, I didn't quite understand it the _first_ fifty times you asked me."

"Just - just make sure she knows I'm not avoiding her," he said with a sigh, as his cousin rolled his eyes.

"You worry too much, Adam," Babette said. "Besides, it'll be myself, Lumière, Cogsworth, Belle, Mr Cobbs and Mrs. Potts all in the same room. You've literally told everybody who's going to be there that you're afraid you can't make it. This is a little bit of overkill."

"I don't like you when you're this sassy," Adam fake-pouted, before grudgingly giving Babette the smile she'd coaxed out of him. 

"Go, or you're going to be late," Lumière chimed in.

"Okay, okay," Adam said.

\---

When Belle and Maurice did eventually reach the halls, it was late at night, and rain hammered down in silver sheets. The small pod was bursting with warmth and decorations, and Belle grinned at seeing all her friends again.

"Papa, this is Lewis Cogsworth," she smiled.

"Pleased to meet you," Cogsworth said pompously, but with genuine respect clearly visible.

"And these are Lumière and Babette, from Paris and Normandy," Belle continued.

"A pleasure," Lumière said, and Babette kissed Maurice on the cheek.

"Adam is _meant_ to be here," she said, "but he had to work tonight. And this is Mrs. Potts - she runs the halls."

"Mrs. Potts," Maurice said, shaking her hand.

"Please, call me Caroline," Mrs. Potts said with a laugh. "We're too old to bother with Mr's and Mrs's, I think, and it gets a lot simpler if we know first names straight off the bat."

"Caroline Potts?" Maurice asked. "Pardon me, but that name sounds awfully familiar. Have you been in Scotland long?"

"I visited for a few months once, in '89, but I only started living in Scotland about eight years ago, when this campus was built." Maurice still had her hand in his, but it had lost the purpose of a handshake, and their fingers curled tenderly around each others hands. "I'm sorry, I don't think I ever caught your name?"

"Maurice Cobbs," he said. "Belle takes my late wife's name."

"I see," Mrs. Potts said.

While the older couple had been conversing, unnoticed by Belle and Team Cupid, Belle had discovered they were out of KitKats, and she'd volunteered to go out and get some more.

"It's your first night back, Belle," Babette protested, "let me go and get them."

"Nonsense," Belle replied. "I _want_ to get them and I'm going to. Bye!"

But now, in the middle of what was turning into a blizzard, Belle had to admit that maybe Babette was right and she shouldn't have left alone. She'd bought the KitKats no bother, but getting back was the hard part. She saw a flash of warm light, and decided to wait out the worst of the storm in the pub currently in front of her. She hurried in, her fingers painfully cold, and quickly dusted off her snow-covered jacket. She looked around, and noticed that the pub was almost completely empty aside from one other person. One other person who was looking straight at her as if the sun had broken out in the middle of this snowstorm and flowers were blooming from her feet. Belle wasn't sure of her own expression, but she was almost certain it mimicked his exactly.

"Hey, Adam," she smiled.

"Hey, Belle," he replied.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - violence (mild description), blood.

Snow fell silently outside the window, but in the pub it felt like a warm summers day. Belle couldn't stop staring at Adam. It had been so long since she'd last seen him, and she felt the need to drink it all in. With concern she noticed dark shadows under his eyes - bluer than the ones that naturally appeared because of his bone structure. He looked slightly paler as well, but that was probably just because of the season. By contrast, his hair was like a band of fire in the dim lighting of the pub, and Belle realised once and for all that she loved him. Any attempt she had made at trying to stamp those feelings out had failed, and they always would fail, because there was no way she could be around him and _not_ love him. It would be like expecting the sun not to shine, or a fire not to burn.

"It's good to see you again," she smiled, walking to the bar.

"You too," he said, with a smile that went straight to her heart with its frankness. "How have you been?"

"Oh, you know, okay," she said. "It was a rough few weeks, but Papa's alright now, and that's the important thing." She rested her hand on the bar, within reach of Adam's hand, but she made no move to touch it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there to welcome you at the halls, but -"

"- you had to work tonight," Belle chimed in. "Yeah, Cogsworth said you mentioned it once or twice." He flushed, and Belle smiled. "Or maybe ten or fifteen."

"I didn't want you to think I was avoiding you," Adam said earnestly, holding her gaze.

"Why would I think that?"

"Well, because of the way we left each other," he said awkwardly. "With the fighting and the yelling. Also the slap," he said, and Belle laughed out loud at his frankness - but not before he smiled first. "I'm not going to say I didn't deserve it, because I did, but you have a hell of a right hook! Who taught you that?"

"My mum," Belle laughed, and at that Adam finally laughed with her. "And you didn't deserve to be slapped. Physical violence rarely solves anything." Before Adam could say anything else, Belle reached for his hand, and wrapped her small, slender fingers around his large, calloused hand. "But listen. Yes, what happened, happened, but can we just skip over the awkward what's-going-on-between-us phase and just be friends?"

"That sounds nice," Adam said. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, and almost involuntarily he twisted his hand so Belle's rested in it. He could see blood rush to her cheeks, and she gently squeezed his hand. Just as gently, he squeezed back, but quickly drew his hand out. 

"To celebrate this new-founded friendship, would you like some cake?"

"Cake?" Belle asked. "One: What sort of cake? And two: You have cake here and it's not on display?"

"Chocolate," Adam answered, a wry grin on his face, "and yes. Tim - my manager - he got it for my birthday tomorrow, and it's in the staff fridge. I wasn't supposed to know it was there, of course, but if you're trying to hide a cake from somebody, putting it in the communal fridge with a large post-it note saying 'DO NOT TOUCH - FOR ADAM'S BIRTHDAY' in big letters isn't the most subtle way of hiding something."

"Not really," Belle said. His eyes twinkled, and Belle felt urged to keep him talking just a little while longer. "So it's your birthday tomorrow?"

"Yep," Adam said, popping the 'P'. "Big one-twenty."

"Feeling old? Would you like a Zimmer frame as a birthday gift?" Childishly, Adam stuck his tongue out at her, and Belle giggled. "You know, for a twenty-one year old, you're like, five."

"Young at heart, my dear Lecteur," he responded. "I'm keeping young at heart!" He swiveled into the kitchen through the swinging doors, and Belle spun round slowly on the barstool.

 _I've missed this,_ she realised. _Talking, laughing, just getting along. I've really missed this. And even if he meant what he said about 'friends', even if we'll never be a couple - we'll always get along._ As soon as Belle swung back to face the bar, Adam practically flew back in, a Tesco brand chocolate cake in his hands.

"Adam," she said slowly, "I love cake as much as the next person, but aren't we missing some things?"

"Are we?" Adam asked, looking straight at her.

"Yes," she smiled. "Like some forks, and a knife to cut it with."

"Oh!" Adam shouted. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Idiot moment there. I'll be right back. By the way, we don't have any clean normal-sized knives, so it'll have to be one of those massive ones longer than your hand." He rushed back into the kitchen, and Belle chuckled quietly to herself at Adam's eagerness.

Suddenly, the door opened behind her. Belle didn't bother turning around, though. _Probably just someone who got caught in the blizzard like I did and wants some shelter,_ she thought. Which was why she was too surprised to make a noise when the customer stalked up to her barstool, grabbed her shoulder in a vice-like grip and spun her round so violently she nearly fell off. But if Belle hadn't been left unable to scream by her shock and dizziness, she would certainly have done so when she saw who had manhandled her so roughly.

It was George Castin.

It was like she had been frozen into place. All Belle could do was look numbly as the one person she had hoped never to see again stood in front of her, anger raging through his eyes. It was as if he'd grown since she last saw him. His body seemed to take up more space, his eyes were colder and harder than before, his grip tighter, his entire being both more real and more nightmarish than she remembered. A beard half-grew on his face, but his long hair had been shaved off. His eyes were larger, but their spirit meaner. His arms were more muscled, but Belle could see that his hands were no longer rough with the work he had been doing at his father's farm.

"Hello, Belle," he sneered.

"George," she said, and for once in her life Belle's voice didn't tremble when she said his name.

"I've been looking for you for a long time," he said, backing up slightly. "You ran away in the summer."

"Yeah," she replied. She didn't trust her voice to produce more than monosyllables without breaking.

"Why did you leave? We were having such a good time?"

"You hit me," she whispered.

"No, I didn't," he said, and he looked genuinely hurt at Belle's statement. "I'd never hit you. I love you, remember?"

"Then why does my father have a broken ankle? And why is my dad's house back home completely trashed?" Anger flickered across George's face for a nanosecond, but it was quickly replaced by the sneering smile she knew so well.

"Belle," he said smoothly, wrapping his arm across her shoulders, "what happened to your dad was an accident. An unfortunate accident, but an accident still."

"That's not what he says," Belle managed to say, before gasping in pain as George grabbed both her shoulders.

"Then your father's insane!" He shook her violently, and let her go suddenly. At this, Belle _did_ fall onto the floor. "What's this? Some cake?"

 _Adam,_ she remembered. _George **can't** meet Adam - they'll kill each other!_

"It's my friend's birthday," she said quickly. "I went out to get a cake, but it was snowing and I came in here to get dry."

"Looks tasty," George said. "I'm going to try some."

"No, don't," Belle protested weakly. _Please don't come through, Adam,_ she wished, _don't come through._

"What harm can it do?" George retorted.

"Got the knife!" Adam shouted gleefully. "Right, let's cut this cake! How big a slice do you -" He froze in the doorway. George stood over Belle, hand outstretched to grab the cake, and at Adam's entry Belle pulled herself to her feet, standing at the other end of the bar to George. Subtly, Adam squared up, and he gently laid the knife down on the bar counter.

"George Castin," George eventually said, holding out his hand.

"Adam," he replied, ignoring it.

"Belle," George said with fake lightness, "you didn't mention your friend was a man."

"I didn't think it mattered," she said. 

"Well, _I_ think it does," he said, the threat of menace inside every action. "You know, this is _just_ like when we were dating. You always ran off, doing your own little thing, and I was left alone, wondering if you'd _ever_ grace me with your presence."

"That sounds more like something _you_ did than me, George," Belle said quickly with a bravery she didn't know she had. "Look, I don't want you here, and I just want to to leave me and my family alone," she gabbled, "so why don't you just -"

"Excuse me?!" George shouted. "Not want me here? You selfish bitch, you're nothing without me here! You called me two weeks ago, and I've been half-mad trying to find you, you stupid, ugly little -"

"HEY!" Adam shouted, pulling George away from the bar, where he had slammed his hands and was preparing to jump over. "How DARE you talk to Belle like that! I don't care if you're her ex or whatever, but I'm running this bar just now, and I say - get out!"

The two men stood chest to chest, emotion running high between them, the knife forgotten on the bar. Belle pressed herself against the wall, too terrified to move.

"Do you know who I am?" George asked. "I'm George Castin, and nobody says no to George Castin!"

"Looks like I'm nobody then," Adam said lightly.

"Give me Belle, and I'll leave quietly," George said smugly.

" _Give_ you Belle?" Adam said. "She's a human being, not a china teapot!"

"If you won't give her to me, I'll have to take her by force," George said.

"Like HELL you will!" Belle shouted suddenly. She ran up to the bar, vaulted over, and hit George in the head with her bag - which contained three hardback books. He staggered backwards, shock apparent on his face.

"I put up with you for _months_ ," Belle shouted. "You never let me out! You coerced me into everything you wanted me to do! You hit me! Well enough is enough," she said. "I'm never going to let you touch me again, George! Never!"

George reached out suddenly and punched Belle in the face. She collapsed against the side of the bar, hitting her head against the edge. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her face, and she lay limply on the ground. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, but unseen by George and Adam they opened again, determination visible behind the agony of her wound.

"Belle!" Adam shouted. He tried to rush over to her, but George pushed him away, stepping over Belle as easily as if she was a discarded doll. She groaned feebly, but George ignored her.

"So, Adam," he said. "Are you ready to fight like a man?"

"This isn't being a man, this is being a coward!" he shouted. "Violence never solves anything, believe me."

George charged at him suddenly, and the two men went crashing into the wall. Adam managed to land on top of George, and he punched him once in the face before struggling to his feet again. George started up, but Adam straddled him before he could even get off the ground, and Adam's heavy weight ensured George couldn't move, no matter how much he struggled.

"I could happily pummel you into the ground for what you just did to Belle," he said with a glare. "Six months ago, I would have. But I know better. So don't you dare try anything. And if you so much as move a finger while I'm checking on Belle, I will have no second chances for you." He got up, paused a second to check George wouldn't move, then raced over to where Belle was shakily getting to her feet.

"Are you alright?" he asked, brushing her hair aside to look at the cut on her head.

"I think so," Belle whispered, all the fight out of her voice now that the crisis was over. Adam's hand caressed her face tenderly. He looked down into her eyes, and Belle lifted her hand to his face, a mirror of his action. And suddenly, she realised that he was in love with her just as much as she was with him. She reached up on her tiptoes, her eyes fluttering shut, to finally seal with a kiss what they had discovered at the ceilidh only a few weeks ago.

But before she could, he was ripped from her arms by George, who had stealthily gotten off the floor without either Belle or Adam noticing. A quick movement of George's arm, an agonised yell from Adam, and suddenly the man Belle loved was on the floor. George paced towards her, but all Belle could see was the pained shock on Adam's face, and the small flash of red trickling over his fingers from where he clasped his hand to his side. The red blood spilled quietly from Adam's body, and just as quietly pooled on the bar counter, where George laid the bread knife Adam had gotten out to cut his birthday cake, now stained with Adam's blood.

Fury rose within Belle like a tidal wave. With a scream, she ran at George, George with his smug grin, with his lies, with his hurt, with his fists, with the pain he caused without a moment's regret. George, who had abused her emotionally and physically. George, who had stalked her father for months and broken his leg. George, who had just hit her _again_. 

George, who had stabbed Adam.

She punched him. She kicked him. In years to come, Belle would never remember exactly what it was she did to him. All she remembered eventually was stopping, because the pain of Adam rose over the hatred of George, and she fell to the floor. George lay face-down beside her, groaning feebly but otherwise not moving. 

"Oh, my god," somebody whispered.

Belle whipped her head around, to see Adam, _her_ Adam, leaning against the bar. She rushed over to him, praying he still had time left to hear what she needed to tell him.

Praying he would know she was in love with him before he died.


	31. Chapter 31

Belle rushed over to Adam, who was struggling to sit up. She slipped a hand under his neck, and wrapped another around his chest, pressing it against the wound. He looked up at her, and Belle could see him hide the pain in his eyes so she wasn't as scared. 

"Adam . . ." she whispered. 

"You know," Adam said jerkily, his voice strained, "I never would have thought it, but behind that fair façade you're _really_ violent." He smiled, and Belle couldn't help but smile with him.

"What can I say - I'm more than just a pretty face," she joked, although it broke her heart to do it when all she wanted to do was cry rivers. But if Adam was going to try and be brave even in the face of his death, the least Belle could do was match his bravery with her own. She started rubbing his neck gently, her thumb brushing across the delicate hair on the nape of his neck. His eyes grew serious, even as his breathing became subtly more laboured. 

"I've always known you were more than just a pretty face, Belle," he said. He lifted his arm, as if to touch her face, but he winced in pain and let out a sharp cry.

"Don't try to move!" Belle cried, and she peeled off her cardigan, folding it up. "Hang on - I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I forgot to try to stop the bleeding." She firmly pressed it against Adam's wound, which, while deep, appeared to be fairly straight in and out, with no ragged edges. He grunted in pain at the pressure, and Belle squeezed his hand. Mimicking her action, Adam squeezed back, and if Belle's resolve had been weaker she would have been crushed by the strength within that grip.

"Why is it that whenever somebody does me physical harm, you always end up saving my idiot ass?" Adam said, grimacing.

"Because your idiot ass always seems to get in the way of physical harm?" Belle teased, but not without sorrow. She kept up the pressure on his wound, but shifted so that her right hand pressed deeply into him while with her left she held onto Adam's hand.

"Can I try to sit up?" Adam asked.

"I really don't think that's a good idea -"

" _Please_ , Belle," Adam said. "I - I need to see your face." With difficulty, Belle managed to prop Adam up against the bar in a sitting position, and now she had her arm across his body and his hand resting on her waist. Her knees were pressed tightly against his side as she tried to keep pressure on the wound, and Belle couldn't help remembering the last time they were this close together, dancing at the ceilidh. She remembered the joy of that evening, but bravely she bit back tears. He _couldn't_ see her cry - it wasn't fair on him. 

"This is all my fault," Belle said with a crack in her voice, despite her pledge not to cry. "If I had gotten to George sooner, he wouldn't have - he wouldn't have -"

"Hey, hey," Adam shushed, "it's okay. It wasn't your fault." He gasped suddenly, and gritted his teeth together in pain. Belle pressed her hand tightly against his side, and was surprised a second later when Adam's hand joined hers, pressing down, their fingers fitting between each other. She could hear him whisper something unintelligible under his breath that sounded like cursing and prayers mixed into one. "It's really not," he said louder, through the pain. "You're not responsible for him, and if anything good comes of this, he is _definitely_ getting arrested tonight."

"I should have gone to the police about him long ago," Belle said ruefully. "Back when I first left him. I just didn't think anyone would believe me."

"Believe you about getting hit?" Adam asked. 

"It wasn't just that," Belle said. "What he did - it's taken me _months_ to realise it, but it was full-on emotional abuse."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Adam said. "Is that why you avoided me for like three weeks after that fight we had?"

Belle nodded. 

"Oh," Adam said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Belle said decisively. "Like you said, he'll be punished for it all after the arrest. I just wish -" She broke off as the threat of tears rose up, but she completed the sentence in thought. _I just wish your life didn't have to be the price._

"Belle, I need to tell you something," Adam interrupted. Gasps for air interrupted his speech more frequently, and Belle drew closer to his face. "That night, at that dance -"

"You don't honestly think I'm still angry about that?" Belle said almost indignantly. "I forgave you for that weeks ago."

"I know - ah!" His face contorted in pain, and he pressed his hand hard against his wound. 

"What is it?" Belle asked hurriedly. 

"Hurts," he panted. "Oh, wow, that - that hurts, Belle."

"I'm sorry, but I have to keep the pressure up or you might -" She stopped herself in the middle if her sentence. She _couldn't_ say it. If she didn't say it, it might not be true. 

"I might die," Adam finished.

"Don't say that."

"It's true, though, isn't it?" he said. "I might die." Fear blanched his face, and Belle kneeler closer to him. 

"You won't die," she said, threading a hand through his hair. "I won't let you. And you'll be just fine - you'll see!" But they both knew she was lying to comfort him, and the truth showed plainly on their faces. 

"Belle," Adam whispered, shifting slightly so his face was closer to hers. 

"Yes?" His free hand, the one not applying pressure to his stab wound, trailed up her waist. His fingers brushed her rib cage, and her heart fluttered like the wings of a bird. His palm rested for an instant on her shoulder, and with a turn of his wrist rested on her face. His thumb brushed her cheekbone; his fingertips caressed her ear, and the heel of his hand rested at the corner of her mouth. Belle lifted her left hand to cover it, to hold it in place. He held her gaze, and she could see the love in his eyes. 

"Belle, I -" he gasped for breath, unable to finish the sentence as another wave of pain crashed over him. 

"What is it?" she asked. She rubbed her fingers in little circles on the back of his hand, to try and sooth him. His eyes grew more distant, but still he fought against the pain of his stab wound. 

"I -" He looked straight at her, and the brilliance of his blue eyes held the brightness of her brown. 

" _Je t'aime_." Adam's eyes slid shut, and the hand pressing down on his wound fell away, while the one on Belle's face slackened, held in place only by her hand. The only sign he was still alive was the irregular, shallow rising and falling of his chest. 

" _Je t'aime aussi_ ," Belle whispered, and she allowed a single tear to fall from her eye and wet his hand before she placed it gently on his stomach. One handedly, she fumbled around in her trouser pocket for her phone, and dialled the emergency services, all the while the panic she'd forced herself not to feel bubbling up in her stomach. 

"999, what's your emergency?" a woman asked calmly. 

"My, uh, my - my friend's been stabbed," Belle stammered. "I've tried to apply pressure to the wound and keep him talking, but he's just passed out."

"Alright," the woman said reassuringly, "help is on its way. Where are you?"

"The Iron Bull, in DunBroch," Belle said. 

"It'll be about ten minutes, there's an ambulance already out," the operator said. "You're lucky you don't have to wait for one to come from Inverness, or you could be waiting for up to half an hour."

"I know," Belle said. Adam's face was beginning to look paler than she liked, and in desperation she applied more pressure. 

"Now, do you know where the attacker is?" 

"Sorry?"

"The person who stabbed your friend," the woman clarified. 

"Oh!" Belle said. A quick glance around the room showed her George was still lying a few feet away from her. "He's in the room with me. But he's not going anywhere."

"Alright," the operator said. "The ambulance should be getting here soon. Keep applying pressure on the wound. Is he still breathing?"

"Yes," Belle said without missing a beat. She was half-draped over his chest trying to stop any bleeding, and Adam's chest rose and fell intermittently. "But it's not regular and he keeps gasping every so often."

"You're doing well," the woman said. "Okay, the ambulance is here now, so I'm going to leave you."

"Thank you," Belle said fervently. 

A team of men and women burst through the door, and they brushed her aside quickly. Belle was questioned by the paramedics, and she answered as quickly as she could. Sooner than she thought humanly possible, she saw Adam being loaded into the back of the ambulance, and in a daze she followed him outside. The snow was still falling, but Belle didn't even shiver. 

"Belle, what's going on?"

She turned to the voice, and saw a panicked Cogsworth standing right behind her. In the distance she could see her dad's car approaching, and suddenly she remembered everyone she'd left at the halls. She reached out and grabbed Cogsworth's shoulder. 

"Cogsworth, I'm so sorry," she said. "George, my ex, he found me. Adam tried to save me, and he got . . . he got stabbed. They're taking him to the hospital." Babette and Lumière, who were driving Maurice's car, pulled up just in time to hear the last few sentences, and Babette gasped. 

"Get in the car," Lumière said with no trace of his usual humour. "We're taking you both to see him."

"Is my dad alright?" Belle asked. 

"Mrs. Potts is looking after him, he'll be fine," Babette said. 

Quickly, Cogsworth and Belle jumped in the back seat of the car. As Lumière and Babette tailed the ambulance, there was only one thought running through everybody's mind. It pulsed in time to the wheels rumbling over the streets. It beat in time to the rain that eventually replaced the snow. And eventually, it was put into words by Lumière. 

"He can't - _can't_ \- die."

"He's not going to die," Babette snapped. 

"That's what I'm _saying_ ," Lumière replied. "He _can't_."

"He won't." 

"I know!"

"Well stop saying he _might_ -"

"SHUT UP!" Cogsworth shouted. Everybody froze at his rare burst of temper. "Can all of you _please_ just shut up?! My cousin is in danger of _dying_ , okay? Just - just shut up." 

The car was silent as they drew closer to the hospital. They pulled up silently and parked just as silently. As they approached the automatic doors, Belle saw Cogsworth tremble slightly, and she reached out to grab his hand. He turned at the pressure, and smiled weakly at her. On Belle's other side, Babette slid her hand into Belle's, giving it a little squeeze. Lumière held onto Cogsworth's spare hand, and together the four friends entered the hospital for what would be the longest night any of them ever lived through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All dialogue from Beauty and the Beast is dialogue I do not own.


	32. Chapter 32

"Well," Cogsworth said, rejoining Belle, Babette and Lumière in the waiting room, "it looks like we're going to be here for a while."

"Did they tell you what's going on?" Belle asked, her eyes grave with worry. 

"He's in the operating theatre, and surgeons are trying to stitch up the wound," Cogsworth said, carefully flopping into the small seat between Belle and Lumière, rubbing his temples. "The man at the desk said Adam would be in for an hour or so, and then would need most of the night for blood transfusions for the blood he lost, and general recovery." Lumière placed a hand on Cogsworth's shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. 

"I am sorry we will have to wait so long, _mon ami_ ," he said gravely. Wordlessly, Cogsworth placed his hand over the other man's, in a gesture of friendship that, in Cogsworth's situation, ran too deep for words. 

"You don't have to stay," Belle said quietly to Babette and Lumière as she settled into her seat. "I'll stick around with Cogsworth, and you two can go back to the pod and -"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Babette admonished in a half-whisper, half-shout. "Of _course_ we have to stay. Do you think you and Cogsworth are the only people who love Adam? He's my friend, too - more than that. He's like my brother!"

"I'm sorry," Belle muttered, subdued. "I shouldn't have said that."

"We're stressed," Babette said, herself trying to calm down. "We've all said things we regret at times like these."

"I can't think of a time quite as bad as this," Lumière said mournfully. 

"Really?" Babette asked. "Not even when you broke your wrist?"

"Oh, yes," Lumière said. "You know, I almost forgot about that day."

"What happened?" Belle asked, in an effort to take her mind off Adam, in the operating theatre. Adam, fighting for his life. Adam, who was gravely injured, possibly fatally, because of her. 

"I used to play violin," Lumière started. "I began when I was about . . . seven, I think? Yeah, seven." His eyes followed the twists and turns of Memory Lane, slightly glazed by the intervening years. "Music was all I really wanted to do with my life. I had a scholarship ready, membership in a brilliant orchestra, and I'd been playing for over ten years. I've still got newspaper clippings and competition trophies at home, you know," he chuckled. "But when I was nineteen, I broke my wrist in what has to be the _stupidest_ way possible."

"How?" Cogsworth asked, interested despite himself. 

"I was on a trampoline, I tried to do a backflip into a handstand and . . . well, you can probably guess the rest."

"He was lucky he didn't break his neck," Babette added. "If you'd fallen just a few inches to the left . . ."

"I know, _chèrie_ ," Lumière smiled. "Anyway, I broke my wrist in a few places, and it didn't heal very well. I could still play, but nowhere near the ability I'd had before, and I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up with the demanding standards required of me." He sighed. "I was utterly devastated. My future, my dreams, everything - it was all gone. Gone with one stupid act of bravado gone wrong."

"I didn't know that," Cogsworth said. "I had no idea you could play."

"It doesn't really come up in conversation," Lumière shrugged. "But I'm happy, now. I can't play violin professionally, but I still want to pursue a career in music - and that's what I'm doing today."

"That's nice," Belle said. However, if Lumière's story had been meant to cheer her up by distracting her from Adam, all it had done was the exact opposite. All she could think about was what might happen if he didn't recover like Lumière had. Or what would happen if he never recovered. 

"It wasn't a pleasant experience," Lumière said, unaware of Belle's divided attention - despite the fact that _he_ was worried about the exact same thing. "And I know we should be focusing on the positives, but right now I really can't." 

"What about you, Cogsworth?" Babette asked. "Any days to compare this one to?" He huffed a little, and stretched about in his seat. 

"This is one of the worst days of my life," he said. "Hannah's death comes in second. But the third worst day? Probably the day I had to sell my shop to take care of Adam."

"You had a shop?" Belle asked. 

"I was in the antiques business," Cogsworth explained. "A small shop, very modest, but I made enough to be comfortable. It came from all my own money, and that shop - it sounds stupid, but it was like a child."

"I get that," Lumière said. "Your pet, your dream, your baby."

"Yes," Cogsworth agreed, nodding his head a little. "Well, Hannah and Vincent wanted Adam to be raised in Scotland, if at all possible. I'd been named legal guardian, and my flat in England didn't have room for a teenage boy. So I sold the shop."

"Really?" Belle asked. 

"Really," Cogsworth repeated. "Saying goodbye to that shop was probably one of the hardest things I ever had to do."

They all sat, silent. Belle watched the hands of the clock tick by, second after obstinate second. It measured the time at an almost agonisingly slow rate, and only after staring at it for about thirty seconds did Belle notice they'd been in the hospital for nearly half an hour. _Nearly halfway through Adam's surgery, if everything's fine,_ she thought. _If._

"I hate to lighten the mood," Babette said only half-seriously, "but I feel I should join this 'worst day ever' saga."

"Do tell," Belle said, curling up in her seat in an attempt to make it more comfortable. "I don't think any of us are going to be happy or cheery tonight."

"Well," she said, "for my fifteenth birthday, my Papa - my grandfather - he gave me this watch. It was my Papa's, and my great-grandfather's before him, and my _great_ -great-grandfather's before _him_. My brothers are from my mother's previous marriage," Babette said, "and Papa wanted it passed down to someone of his direct family. Which _I_ think is rubbish because we're _all_ family, but it was his decision, not mine. Anyway, he died not long after I turned sixteen, and I still managed to hold onto this watch. But a few months ago, I lost it. I looked _everywhere_ it could have possibly been, but it's gone. Forever."

"Babette," Belle gasped. "I'm so sorry."

"I know compared to career-ending injuries and losing businesses, one little watch isn't that big a deal," Babette said, "but it was absolutely the worst thing that ever happened to me - so far, I guess."

"What about you, Belle?" Lumière asked. 

"Me?" she said. "Well, I guess there's two - no, three strong contenders. There's the day Mama died. But you all know that already. There's today." Her heart sped up a little. She'd only told Adam and Resa, so far. But these people were her friends. They deserved to know the full story of why Adam was in hospital. 

"And there's something that happened a few months ago," she said. "It's to do with my ex, George." 

"What happened?" Cogsworth asked. 

"He . . . he hit me," Belle said. Everybody gasped, and Babette stroked Belle's arm reassuringly. 

"You never told anyone?" Babette asked. 

"No," Belle said. "That's why I chose the Univetsity of Inverness, actually. It was the furthest away I could get from George with leaving the country."

"But you said earlier that something happened between George and Adam," Cogsworth said slowly. "Has this man found you again?"

"Yes," Belle said quietly. "He's been stalking my father for months, and he reappeared last night to try and _force_ me to go back with him."

"And Adam stood up for you?" Cogsworth asked. 

"Yes," Belle said. "George stabbed him. That's why we're here."

"What about this George?" Lumière asked. "What happened after he stabbed Adam?"

"I honestly don't remember," Belle said. "But I'd be _very_ surprised if he makes it out of hospital before he gets arrested."

"Well," Cogsworth said, "just remember that we're here for you, Belle."

"Thank you," she said, pressing the older man's hand gratefully. Lumière patted her shoulder comfortingly, and Babette squeezed her hand. _I'm so lucky to have these friends,_ Belle thought. _Now we just have to make it through this hellish night together._

\---

At 5 am on January 11th, a nurse approached a small group of people who'd been waiting since 2 am earlier that night. A tall, thin man was trying to sooth a short fat one, both men clearly anxious, looking at the clock every few seconds. Two brown-haired, brown-eyed girls, both pale and weary from stress and lack of sleep, sat next to the men, and the shorter of the two looked as if she'd been crying. The nurse approached the small group, and cleared his throat a little when nobody looked up. The short man leapt up, the unspoken representative, and the tiny conversation everybody had been having petered out.

"Well?" he asked. "How is he?"

Belle and Babette clasped hands. Lumière held his breath. Even the lights seemed to flicker in anticipation. Belle felt her mouth go dry. Blood rushed in her ears like the fluttering of wings. All she could feel was the hard grip of Babette's fingers around her own. _Don't be dead,_ she prayed, _don't be dead._ It wasn't until she heard Babette's gentle hushing that Belle realised she'd spoken aloud. 

"The surgery went well," the nurse replied. "Your cousin is going to be fine."

The collective tension in the room evaporated instantly. Cogsworth sagged into his chair, his face pale from the strain of the last three hours. Lumière clapped his shoulder again, and again Cogsworth met the other man's hand. Belle felt the weight of all her anxiety lift off her, and a smile tentative like sunshine after rain filtered onto her face. Babette started to cry, and Belle pulled her into a tight hug. 

"How is he? Can we see him?" Cogsworth asked. 

"He's perfectly alright, but he's resting now. He lost a lot of blood. The young lady who was with him did exactly the right thing in trying to stop the bleeding. But if you want to visit him, you'll need to wait a few hours, until he's conscious," the nurse said. "It's family only until then." The nurse left them to themselves, and the four friends gradually started to fully realise what had happened. 

"It's completely unfair," Babette said. "We're _all_ his family, even if Cogsworth is the only one related by blood."

"It's just until Adam wakes up," Belle soothed, although she felt the same. 

"Do you want to go just now?" Lumière asked. 

"No - I want to take it in a little," Cogsworth said. And to be fair, Belle thought, he did look a little overwhelmed. "I'll go up in a few minutes."

"I'll go get some teas and coffees," Babette volunteered. 

"You're a saint," Lumière grinned. 

"Well, you know my worst days, but this has to be one of the best," Belle said once Babette had come back. 

"Any others?" Lumière asked. 

"The first day in Scotland," Babette said instantly, ignoring the fact he'd addressed Belle. "It was scary, and lonely, but I was finally doing something I loved."

"Apart from today," Lumière said, "my best day was the first time I met Babette."

"That's cheesy," she replied. 

"But you love it, _mon amour_ , don't you?" he said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

"What about you, Cogsworth?" Belle asked. 

"Getting the deed to my antiques shop," he smiled. "But also, the first time I met Adam. He was two, and he took one look at me, turned to his mother and said 'Do you see that man? He looks like a huge clock?!'" This got the desired laugh, and everybody turned to Belle once again. 

"Apart from today," Belle mused. There were several things she could have chosen. The last full day she spent with her mother. The first time she successfully opened a bank account without getting accused of fraud because of how young she looked. The first time she'd helped Maurice fix a car. But then Belle noticed who she was with, and she knew the answer. 

"Apart from today," she said, "my best day was the day I met all of you." Everybody broke out in smiles. Cogsworth eventually got up, having finished his cup of tea in record time. 

"Right," he said. "I'm going to see Adam. I'll let you all know how he is."

"And I'm going to call my dad," Belle said suddenly. "He must be worried sick about all of us - Mrs. Potts too!"

"We'll stay here and hold up the fort," Lumière said. 

"Thank you," Cogsworth said. "And this may be cheesy, but Babette is right. I couldn't have gone through this night without you all. It doesn't matter what paper or doctors say," he sniffed. "You are _all_ my family, and I - I love you all."

"I love you, too," Babette said. 

"Me too," Lumière added. 

"I feel the same," Belle said. 

And with that, the little family went to their separate tasks.


	33. Chapter 33

The heart monitor beeped away steadily, as Cogsworth looked down at his little cousin. The words 'small', 'fragile', and 'delicate' were not ones usually applied to Adam. But today, they were all Cogsworth could think of when he saw Adam. He'd never seen Adam this still, this quiet. His breathing was regular, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor assured Cogsworth that his cousin was still alive and well. He knew from the doctors that Adam was in natural sleep now, and would wake up of his own accord. Still, he harboured a deep-rooted fear that Adam would stay unconscious on this bed forever. He didn't know how Belle had been able to stand the possibly of _her_ nearest and dearest never waking up. He knew it would completely break him if there was still something wrong with Adam, despite the reassurances of the doctor. Cogsworth reached out for Adam's hand, and as if assuring Cogsworth of his life, Adam's fingers curled around Cogsworth's in his sleep. 

"Adam," he sighed. "I promised Hannah and Vincent you'd never come to harm." Adam lay motionless, and Cogsworth felt it safe to continue. "I _promised_ them, when I became guardian. And I never really thought about it," he half-laughed. "Of course, the first time you broke your nose gave me a fright. And when you twisted your ankle playing football. And all the times I set off the fire alarm trying to cook food." He chuckled slightly at the remembrance. "But now . . . I never expected you to come to _this_ much harm."

Adam's breathing changed subtly, and his eyes slowly opened, unnoticed by Cogsworth. 

"And it made me realise something that I don't think I say enough," Cogsworth said, staring blindly at Adam's hand. "But just because I don't say it, doesn't mean I don't feel it." He took a deep breath. "I love you, little cousin."

"I love you too," Adam croaked. Cogsworth looked up in shock. 

"You're awake," he said. "You're okay." The little man drew closer to Adam, a hand braced on his shoulder. "You're okay."

"Yeah," Adam whispered. "Are you? I didn't even think you'd be here."

"Did you hear what I just said?" Cogsworth asked. "You're my cousin. Of course I'd be here."

"Thanks," Adam said quietly. "Why happened after I passed out? Where is everyone - is Belle okay?"

"Belle's fine," Cogsworth smiled. "You lost a lot of blood in the attack, but thanks to her you're alive. We've been waiting here all night to see how you were after the surgery to fix your wound."

"Oh," Adam said quietly. He remembered the moments before he passed out with unusual clarity. Belle's attempt to joke with him, despite the circumstances. Her confession of what that man had done to her. And his own confession, one he'd been putting off for months. There was only one thing he wasn't sure of. He was _certain_ he'd heard Belle say something back to him, before he fainted. He just couldn't remember what. 

"Cogsworth," he said, "I just - I just want to say . . . I'm sorry."

"What for?" Cogsworth asked, puzzled. 

"For hating you all those years," he said, flushing slightly. "I didn't realise why I hated you, back then. But I think you're right. I think . . . I think maybe I _did_ blame you for Mum and Dad's death."

"You were only a child," Cogsworth said. "You're not to blame for those feelings."

"Still," Adam said, "it wasn't very fair on _you_. Not after all you've done for me."

"I would do it all again, you know," Cogsworth said. 

"I know," Adam said quietly. Cogsworth got up quietly. 

"Well, I'll go tell the others you're awake. They've been dying to see you."

"No, Cogsworth, don't go yet -"

"Adam," Cogsworth said, not hearing, "I'll see you later -"

" _Lewis_ ," Adam cried. "Don't go yet - not yet."

Cogsworth froze, his hand still on the door, his back to his cousin. Adam sat half-up, his arm outstretched. The beeps of the heart monitor increased a little, but otherwise silence reigned in the little room. Cogsworth turned around slowly, his eyes full of emotion. 

"You haven't called me Lewis since you were eleven years old," he said slowly. 

"I know," Adam said. "But I think ten years is long enough."

"Yes," Lewis Cogsworth said slowly. "It's far too long."

And almost before they knew what was happening, the two cousins, separated for so long by quarrels and upset and bitter, bitter hurt, finally embraced the other. 

\---

Belle sat on the cold metal bench outside the hospital, shielded from the chill January air by her thick jacket. Her fingers smarted against the breeze that shivered past them as she called her father on her mobile, and her toes were beginning to go numb, but all she could think about was her relief that Adam wasn't dead. _He didn't die,_ she kept thinking. _He didn't die. And before he blacked out, he said that he - he said he -_

"Belle? Are you alright?" Maurice's familiar voice traveled down the phone, and it wasn't until now that Belle had realised how much she'd needed to hear his voice.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "I just wanted to call to say that Adam's alright. He's alive."

"That's a relief," Maurice said. "I was very worried that young man wouldn't pull through."

"We all were," Belle said. "But he'll be just fine. Cogsworth is seeing him now, and then we'll all get to visit."

"Hmm," Maurice said. 

"What?" Belle asked, a little puzzled.

"I know I haven't seen you much this year, Belle, but from what you say, I think it's probable you have feelings for this man." Belle blushed, although Maurice couldn't see her.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I do."

"I'm happy you've found someone you can love again," Maurice said seriously. "Much like I have."

"What?" Belle asked, shocked. "What are you talking about, Papa? Who have you found?"

"Well . . ." Maurice said. "It's sort of a long story. But to make it short, a few years before I met your mother, there was a woman I met over the summer. She was up from England, and we connected. But she had to go back after her sister broke her leg, and we lost contact."

"Dad," Belle said suddenly, understanding lighting up her mind, "did you meet this woman in 1989?"

"How on _earth_ could you know that?" Maurice asked. "I haven't even told you who she is yet."

"I think I know," Belle said, a smile creeping onto her face. "I think it's Mrs. Potts."

Maurice laughed in disbelief, and Belle giggled on the other end of the phone line. 

"It _is_ ," Maurice laughed.

"I'm glad," Belle said, her smile still pressed on her face. "I'm really, really glad. You deserve to be happy again, after Mama. And Mrs. Potts is amazing."

"She is," Maurice said, the pride evident in his voice. "And it means a lot to me that you support this. I feel like I've been walking on air for the last few hours, when I wasn't worrying about you lot down at the hospital."

"How did you two even find out?" Belle asked. 

"We got to talking, and one thing led to another," Maurice chuckled. "It seems almost crazy to realise she's been in the same country for all these years."

"Is it like when you met Mama?" Belle asked quietly. 

"No," Maurice said seriously. "What I had with your mother is completely different to what is between Caroline and I. She's not going to try and replace your mother, Belle."

"I didn't think she would," Belle said. "I just wondered."

"Well you've got your answer now," Maurice chuckled. Out the corner of her eye, Belle noticed Lumière gesturing to her from the hospital door. 

"Papa, I have to go now, I think I can see Adam, but I just want to say - I'm really, _really_ happy for the both of you."

"Thank you, Belle," Maurice said. "And don't get too excited. For all anybody knows, this won't work out in anything longterm."

"Somehow I doubt that," Belle said. "Neither of you seem like the kind for anything 'casual'. But I really do need to go now. Love you! And give my love to Mrs. Potts!"

"I will. I love you too, Belle."

Belle hung up the phone, and followed Lumière and Babette as they flew upstairs to Adam's room. Cogsworth was waiting outside, a smile plastered on his face. 

"Let's go, then," Belle said. "Lumière, Babette?"

"No," Babette said. "You should go first. Spend a little time alone together."

"Okay," Belle said. "Thank you, all of you." She walked in the room, and the door shut quietly behind her. 

"Alright people, Team Cupid's final mission is about to begin," Lumière said, rubbing his hands together. "They were _seconds_ away from confessing their love simultaneously last time."

"If they don't do it now, with both of them conscious and having narrowly escaped death, then it'll _never_ happen," Babette said, a small frown on her face. 

"Nobody is getting in or out of that room until we get a love confession!" Cogsworth exclaimed. 

"And how will we enforce that?" Lumière asked. 

"How do you think?" Cogsworth asked, exasperated. "By listening at the door like we always do."

And that's what they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Team Cupid. I've missed your antics. 
> 
> By the way, I have no idea how long it takes to recover from a stabbing. Call it creative license.


	34. Chapter 34

Belle let the door slowly click shut behind her as she looked at Adam, lying on the bed. His eyes were shut, and she could see his chest rising and falling steadily as the heart monitor continued to beep away in the back ground. He stirred slightly at the noise of the door shutting, propping himself up on his elbows to see who had come in as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. Belle's heart softened at the gesture, and she smiled, so the first thing Adam saw with eyes open was Belle. Belle, smiling. Belle, come to see him. Belle, completely and utterly fine. 

"Belle," he whispered. 

Before the word had even come out of Adam's mouth, Belle flew across the room, flinging herself into his shoulder and wrapping her arms tightly around him. She pressed her head in the crook of his neck, just above his collarbone, and drunk in his familiar scent, felt his familiar warmth, heard his familiar voice the way he'd said her name. His hair was pressed uncomfortably against her face, and her leg was beginning to hurt from leaning in such an awkward position, but she didn't care. Belle could feel his breathing get quicker, and he pressed her close to him with one arm, as she was lying on the other one. He buried his face in her hair, almost unable to believe that they were both still alive, and Belle could feel every one of his fingers splayed out on her back, rubbing in soothing circles. 

Eventually, reluctantly, Belle pulled away. Her right hand stayed resting on Adam's arm, and she allowed her left to fall only an inch or so away from Adam's hand. She ran her eyes over his face, anxiety over his wellbeing suddenly stopped by a smile on his face. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said in a rush. "I was so worried about you after what George did."

"I'm fine," Adam said soothingly, smiling at her. "Or at least, I will be in a few weeks when I can get out this hospital." She patted his arm gently, and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes made Belle certain he'd be back on his feet in no time. 

"I really can't thank you enough for saving me," Belle started, but she was cut off mid-sentence by a disbelieving look from Adam. 

"I saved _you_?" he asked. " _I_ saved _you_? Belle, you saved _me_. You got the ambulance here, you did all the first aid, you helped Lewis and Babette and Lumière . . ."

"Which would have been hard to do if I hadn't been helped by _you_ earlier that evening."

Adam shook his head. "You don't get it. It's always you, saving my idiot ass."

"Because your idiot ass gets in trouble trying to save _me_ ," Belle laughed. Adam started to laugh as well, and she gently pressed his arm. He stopped laughing slowly, and a new look overtook his eyes - one of determination. 

"Belle," he said seriously.

"Yes?" she asked, a smile still brightening her face. 

"Before I blacked out, last night, I think I said something." Instantly, Belle's heart started to race. She dropped her gaze to something safe, like the hospital sheets, instead of Adam's blue, earnest eyes. _Does he remember that?_ she wondered. _Does he remember telling me he loves me? Does he remember me telling him I love him back?_

"Its something I've been wanting to say for a long time," he continued, oblivious to Belle's embarrassment because he was looking at the sheets, too. He noticed her hand, only a few centimetres away from his. Carefully, he reached out - not quite touching, but closer than an accident. Close enough to hold her hand, if he flipped his palm over like he has last night at the bar. 

"Belle, I - well, for several months I've -" For the second time he broke off, blushing heavily, but at his words Belle glanced up at him, a new hope transfiguring her face. "What I'm trying to say is -" As Adam broke off again, Belle shifted slightly, edging closer to him. He didn't notice, however, trying to force the words out in a way that didn't make him sound like an idiot. "Belle, I'm in -" Finally he looked up at her, bright blue eyes staring straight into hers. "Belle, I lo-"

Adam was suddenly cut off when Belle leaned over and kissed him. 

For a split second, he froze. Belle had one hand behind his neck, and one on his shoulder, and had pulled him towards her. Her fingers were cold like ice, but her lips were soft against his. Their noses were pressed together awkwardly, but Adam couldn't focus on the discomfort when her mouth was pressed against his. His heart seemed to be going into overdrive, and he was almost surprised Belle couldn't hear it beating away inside his chest. Adam's mouth was still open from trying to confess his love, and he could taste her strawberry chapstick, he could smell the delicate fragrance that was inexplicably _Belle_ , no matter what perfume she wore, and he could feel the slippery waterproof material of her jacket from where it brushed against his fingers. His brain could only focus on a few things which, in order of importance, were these: Belle was kissing him; he loved her; she smelled like flowers after rain; he loved her; her nails on his neck were digging in slightly; he loved her; and he wasn't kissing her back because of the complete shock that came from having requited love. 

All of this flashed through Adam's mind in about five seconds, before Belle pulled away. She kept her hands on his neck and shoulder, Adam noted, but she still looked nervous. As if she wasn't sure she'd done the right thing and now she might have to face the consequences. 

"I love you," Adam said, lifting his hand to her cheek and stroking it gently. A smile brighter than the sun broke over Belle's face in response, and her body relaxed into Adam's. 

"I love you, too," she grinned. "Sorry I just kind of flew at you, but I couldn't think of a better way to say it."

"I don't mind," Adam said, resting his other hand on her leg. "If you hadn't done it, who knows how long we would have been here waiting for me to spit it out?" That made her laugh. Adam loved hearing Belle's laugh, especially when he was the cause. He smiled at her, and pulled her in again. 

He could taste her strawberry chapstick again, but this time Belle opened her mouth, and her cool breath filled his lungs. His hands found her waist and pulled her close, holding her tightly. Belle ran her fingers through his hair, and Adam sighed into her mouth. She did it again, and Adam traced her spine with his right hand, making her shiver. He bit down lightly on Belle's lower lip, and her fingers clenched in his hair. He ran his own fingers through her hair, and he was aware of Belle's hands tracing the muscles of his back and shoulders, as if trying to commit them to memory. Her weight shifted slightly, and she went from leaning on his side to half her body resting on his chest, and she ghosted her fingers up his ribs. He ran his fingers down her back again, and Belle gasped. He still couldn't quite believe he was kissing her. Couldn't quite believe that this was real, that she loved him back, that they had gone through so much only to end up together. But it was real. And it was like a dream come true. 

Eventually Adam pulled away first, completely out of breath. He tucked a strand of hair behind Belle's ear that had fallen out her ponytail, and the couple rearranged themselves more comfortably, unable to keep their wide smiles off their faces. 

"What happened after I blacked out?" Adam asked a short time later. 

"I called 999," Belle said, with eyes a lot brighter and hair a lot more dishevelled than when she had entered the room. "The paramedics arrived really soon, and they took you away. George too, I think."

"What are you going to do about him?" 

"I don't know," Belle said, picking up Adam's hand gently. "He's going to trial for this, definitely, and for my dad too, I hope." She kissed his hand, and kept it between her own. "I think I _will_ tell the police about everything. It's time. And the thing is . . . he doesn't scare me as much, anymore. Back in August, I thought it was only a matter of time till he dragged me back. But now he's getting arrested . . . I think I can move on."

"That's great, Belle," Adam smiled. She smiled back, and rested her head on his shoulder. 

"At least I'll have a valid excuse for Professor Carson as to why my paper isn't in on time," he joked after a while. 

"Professor Carson? Doesn't he teach Psychology?" Belle asked. 

"Yeah, why?"

"Is that what your degree's in?"

"Does that surprise you, Lecteur?" Adam teased. 

"I just - I never saw you as a psychology kind of guy," Belle said, flustered. "I thought you'd be doing Music or something." 

"No," Adam smiled. "I've wanted to do Psychology for a while. I figured, I didn't want anyone to go through the sort of stuff _I_ went through after Mum and Dad, especially if they're a kid. So hopefully in a few years, I'll be fully-fledged and ready to help some kids."

"I can't believe I've lived with you for five months and I didn't know what your degree was in," Belle laughed. "Speaking of degrees, I've decided on the title of my creative piece."

"Do tell," Adam said. 

"It's about hidden depths; how everybody has a story, if we want to find it. And it's a bit of a mystery/thriller too. And it's set in France. So I called it 'Behind A Fair Façade'. What do you think?"

"I think it's perfect," Adam said honestly. Belle grinned. 

\---

Outside, Team Cupid stood anxiously at the door, all peeking through the glass pane in the middle: Cogsworth at the bottom, Babette in the middle, and Lumière (as the tallest) on top. When Belle and Adam kissed, the three of them rushed to the nearby stairwell as quickly as they could, before simultaneously celebrating. They cheered, high-fived, and Babette crushed them together in a group hug. 

"I get the feeling that we would be getting stranger looks if they knew _what_ we were celebrating," Cogsworhh quipped as two doctors rushed past them. 

"It doesn't matter! They got together!" Lumière kept laughing after every sentence, and he pulled Babette into a bear hug, lifting her off her feet with enthusiasm. 

"So this means Adam won't be disinherited after all?" Babette asked. 

"Actually, no," Cogsworth said. 

"What?!" Babette and Lumière gaped at Cogsworth, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces. 

"Adam and I talked it over before I called you up. He doesn't want the money - he thinks it would be wrong to use Belle like that - and besides, she knows about the will. Legally, he failed to complete all the conditions."

"So he'll be left with nothing after all?" Babette asked. 

"Not exactly," Cogsworth said. "We were on the phone to the executor, and we've arranged something that all involved should find satisfactory."

"What?" Lumière asked. 

"Will you let me speak?!" Cogsworth squeaked. "Since Adam _did_ prove he was true of heart, the executor was fairly lenient with how harshly everything needed to be applied. So while legally, Adam can't inherit anything, there's nothing in the will about someone _else_ inheriting and _gifting_ some things to him."

"Are you saying what I thnk you're saying?" Babette asked slowly. 

"Yes," he grinned. "I've been named legal heir, and I'm going to give Adam all personal artifacts - photos, items from his childhood, jewellery - anything, really. And since he doesn't want the money and I'd feel strange having so much while he didn't, we've set aside enough to pay back _some_ of our student loans, and the rest will go to charity."

"That's brilliant, Cogsworth!" Babette cried, flinging her arms around him. He patted her back twice, and they separated, but it was clear to everyone he was pleased. 

"And what about the house?" Lumière asked. 

"I was getting to that," Cogsworth snarked. "With the executor's approval . . . _I'm_ getting the house." He still looked as if he couldn't quite believe it, and Babette and Lumière congratulated him. "So he won't have everything he would have been entitled to if Belle had known nothing, but he's far from being cut off, either."

"You said the will was engineered as a sort of test by his mother?" Babette asked. 

"Not exactly, but now that I think about it, it does feel a little like a test," Cogsworth mused. 

"I think this is how she planned it all along," Babette said. "If she really thought Adam would be 'true of heart', she must have known that couldn't be achieved by lying to someone. And like you say, this has worked out for the best. Adam keeps his independence, you get a house, and nobody is left with nothing."

"Quite right, _mon ange_ ," Lumière said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Now, there's only one thing left to do, if Badam in there aren't locking lips."

"What's that?" Cogsworth asked. 

"Cogsworth, I'm surprised at you! Given what's taken place today, you of all people should know what the next logical thing to do is!"

"Call the press? Call the lawyer? Call Maurice and Mrs. Potts?"

"Sing 'Happy Birthday' to Adam!" Lumière laughed. 

Laughing with him, they walked towards Adam's hospital room, the last time Team Cupid would ever need to undertake a mission this drastic. After a quick knock on the door, all five friends were quickly reunited. Lumière and Babette said their hellos to Adam, and as promised, they sang 'Happy Birthday' - so enthusiastically a nurse had to put her head around the door and ask them to pipe down. 

"Thanks, guys," Adam said after the door had closed. "It's certainly not my _favourite_ birthday, but it's definitely going to be _memorable_."

"More than your twelfth birthday when I nearly burned the house down?" Cogsworth asked. 

"Maybe ever so slightly," Adam teased. 

"Speaking of," Belle said, "it's my eighteenth in two weeks - what do you say we organise something here in the hospital?"

"Really? You wouldn't rather go out?" Babette asked. 

"No," Belle smiled. "I have everything I need right here."

She leaned into Adam, ignoring Babette's fake disgust at their PDA, and kissed him once, sweetly. If their first kiss was a confession of love, and their second was an expression of passion, Belle thought this kiss was a hope for the future. 

"I'm so lucky I fell in love with you," Adam murmured. 

"I feel the same," Belle whispered back. 

"Anyway," Babette said, ignoring Belle and Adam, "did you hear about Maurice and Mrs. Potts?"

"Yeah, I think it's great," Belle grinned. 

"How did that even come about?" Cogsworth asked. 

"I think they already knew each other, and the two of them re-discovered it last night while we were all waiting here," Lumière guessed. 

"That's incredible," Adam said. 

"Do you think they'll end up together? Like, longterm?" Babette asked. 

"I think it's a bit soon to say," Cogsworth mused, "but I'm pretty sure they'll stay together for a long time to come."

"I hope we stay together too," Belle said, looking at everyone. "You guys are more than just my friends. You're like my family too."

"I'm sure we _will_ stay together," Lumière smiled. 

Gradually, the conversation moved on to other topics, other memories, other suggestions about the future. But whatever changed in the conversation or years to come, Lumière would prove to be right. The five friends would remain together for a long, long time to come.


	35. Epilogue - A Tale As Old As Time

One year later, the bright April sun shone down on the newlyweds as they journeyed to the reception with their friends. The groom couldn't stop smiling, clasping his bride's hand between his own two, running his finger over the wedding bands they'd just exchanged. They shared a loving glance, and the bride leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. 

"Congratulations, you two," Lumière said from the other side of the car. "Honestly, I'm so happy for the both of you."

"Thank you," the bride said, reaching out to grab Lumière's hand in a motherly gesture. "And thank you, Cogsworth, for letting us use your house for the reception." She smiled at the little man in the drivers seat, her face crinkling into familiar wrinkles. 

"It's not a problem," he said. "With a wedding party this small, a large hotel room just didn't make sense."

"And thank _you_ , Belle, for being so kind today," the bride smiled. Her snow-white hair perfectly complemented her deep purple and silver skirt suit, and the groom's buttoniere had white and purple crocuses on it. 

"You shouldn't thank me for that, Caroline," Belle said, grinning at her stepmother. "It's your wedding day - everybody should be kind to you. And besides, you make Papa happy, which is the only thing that matters." 

"Thank you, Belle," Maurice said, beaming behind the large bouquet of flowers Lumière had insisted on buying for Mrs. Potts - Mrs. Cobbs, now. 

"It was lovely of Resa's dad to agree to be best man," Belle continued. "I'm really glad she managed to make it up here."

"I've missed Steven Gerard myself, you know, Belle!" Maurice teased. "Is the car still following us?"

"Yes," Belle said, after twisting around in her seat at a dangerous angle. "Adam seems to be getting some very _thorough_ instructions from Mr. Gerard on how to drive his own car." Adam's face was one of iron control, but the hint of a smile at the absurdity of the situation lingered around the corner of his mouth. He was no longer the stubborn boy Belle had first known, but Adam's temper was still one to be reckoned with. Today, however, Belle knew he wouldn't dream of losing his temper over something as trivial as a backseat driver. 

Everybody laughed, and Cogsworth made the turn into the drive of his house. As Belle, Lumière, Cogsworth, Maurice and Mrs. Cobbs spilled out of one car, Adam, Babette, Resa and Mr. Gerard exited the other. 

"Congratulations!" Babette cried, running towards Mrs. Cobbs and locking her in an embrace. 

"You congratulated me at the registrar's office, dear," Mrs. Cobbs laughed. 

"This is a happy day, I'll be congratulating you and Maurice till midnight!" Babette grinned. 

"What time are Chip and your son getting here?" Belle asked enthusiastically. Over the last year she and Chip had become acquainted through Skype, and it was hard to say which one looked forward to finally meeting the other more. 

"I think they'll be here in about -" 

Mrs. Cobbs was cut off suddenly by a silver rental car trundling up the driveway. As the wedding party all stopped and stared at the vehicle in disbelief, wondering who on earth was in the car, the passenger door opened. 

"Grandma!" a small voice cried with delight. A short, chubby little boy with a mop of dull gold hair raced across the driveway into Mrs. Cobbs' waiting arms, as she laughed aloud at his enthusiasm. 

"Chip, you lovely boy, what a nice surprise!" She ruffled his hair gently, and Chip beamed up at his grandmother. "I swear you get taller every time I see you. Why, you're up to my elbow now, and you only just turned ten a few months ago!"

"I can't be _that_ tall, Grandma," the little boy said. "I'm the shortest boy in my class." 

"No way!" Belle teased, and Chip noticed her for the first time. 

"Belle!" he shouted, and he raced from Mrs. Cobbs to Belle. With a grunt of effort, Belle managed to lift him up to her waist. 

"Hello!" she smiled. "Pleased to meet you in person."

"Me too," Chip grinned. "Look, I lost a tooth! That's nearly all of them gone now!" He bared his mouth open, and sure enough there was a conspicuous gap where one of his front teeth should have been. 

"Impressive!" Belle gasped. "Did you get some money from the Tooth Fairy?"

"No," he whispered. 

"Why not?" Belle asked in the same tone of voice. 

"Don't tell Dad," he whispered, gesturing to a mildly balding, tall, tanned man who was bending double to embrace his mother, "but she's not real. I don't think he'd be able to cope."

"Quite right," Belle said, and gently put Chip down on the ground. 

"That's enough standing about, I think we need to go inside," Cogsworth ordered. Belle met up with Adam again, and the two of them strolled inside hand in hand. 

"You survived Mr. Gerard telling you how and where and when to drive, then?" Belle teased. 

"Barely," Adam responded. "He is a lovely man, Belle, but of all the backseat drivers I've had - and I've had _Lewis_ ," he emphasised, "he was the most annoying."

"You could have driven with us," Belle reminded him. 

"Yeah, but I thought you'd want to stay with your dad for today," Adam shrugged. 

"Thank you," Belle smiled, and she gave him a small kiss on the cheek. He smiled back at her. Slowly and deliberately, he caressed her face and pulled her into a kiss. Even after more than a year of being together, Belle still got butterflies when they kissed like this. Her hands braced themselves on his shoulders, the crisp material of his shirt becoming hopelessly wrinkled under her fingers, as Adam's warm hand stayed on her cheek. His other hand wound around her waist, and Belle let out a happy sigh. 

They broke apart, and still smiling, they strolled further into Cogsworth's house as everyone gathered in the living room. Resa settled down next to Belle, and the two girls had a rapturous catch-up over everything that had happened since they last met at Christmas. 

"I'm really glad the college course is working out for you, Resa," Belle smiled. 

"I think my sisters and parents are just as glad as you," Resa said, smiling ruefully. "The way they speak you'd think I was sitting lazing around at home, never wanting to move on and get a job! A year out doesn't mean I'm lazy!"

"Exactly," Belle said forcefully. "What's right for lots of people isn't right for _everybody_." 

"But seriously, Belle, I don't know how you're coping with a university workload. Celine nearly missed her exam, she was so sleep-deprived trying to study for it."

"And _that_ is why I'm not doing a law degree!" Belle chuckled. "But you're right about the workload - first year just about killed me. It gets better as you get more used to it, though."

"Hey, a Childcare course isn't exactly a piece of cake either!" Resa laughed. 

"You should talk to Chip, he's ten and he's actually _so_ adorable," Belle said. The two girls walked over to him, and they had a very entertaining time as Chip told them about all the classroom politics and after-school drama a ten-year-old has to deal with in day-to-day life. 

"I still can't get over how different you look, Belle," Resa said after half an hour of talking with Chip. "I've never seen you so . . . so _happy_."

Belle laughed. "I guess it's because you only met me when we were seventeen, and then I was with _him_ , and then I had exams and I couldn't see you for _ages_." Resa's face grew serious, and she quickly glanced around the room to check Maurice and Adam weren't within hearing distance. 

"Belle, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I've been wondering. What happened to him after the . . . _stabbing_ incident?" Belle glanced up herself. She didn't want either man getting upset by reference to George today, but Resa had a right to know. 

"He's in jail," Belle said quietly. "Assault, attempted murder."

"Good riddance," Resa said. "And now, let me show you some pictures of this hairstyle I'm thinking about."

Belle smiled. Resa was a good friend. Belle had been feeling better about George since he had been incarcerated. She didn't _like_ referring to him, but at the same time it didn't send her into a panic like just after they broke up. Her recovery hadn't been easy. It was by no means over. But for a long time now, Belle had been feeling good about herself and her past. She would have far preferred that she'd never gone out with George in the first place. But George had led her to choose a far-distant university. It had led to her meeting Cogsworth, and Babette, and Lumière and Adam. She'd met Mrs. Cobbs, and Maurice had been re-united with her. _I'd have preferred it if I'd never had to go through it,_ Belle thought. _But it's also given me so much joy._

"Belle!" Babette whispered sharply. "Are you still doing the you-know-what for Cotts?"

" _Cotts_? What on _earth_ is Cotts?" Belle asked.

"The ship name for your dad and Mrs. Cobbs. You can thank Lumière for it," Babette said, rolling her eyes in his direction. "He says it came in a 'moment of inspiration'. Anyway, are you doing the _thing_ now?"

"Yes," she hissed back.

"It's ready for you," Babette said. Belle stepped away from Resa, towards the main area of the living room.

"Hey, everyone," Belle smiled. "I just wanted to take the time to say that I'm really glad you could all make it here today. Papa, Caroline, I'm really happy for you." The two older people smiled at Belle, and she smiled back at them. "I can see how happy you make each other. You don't know this, but I've prepared a little surprise for you." She nodded at Lumière, and the opening bars of a certain song started to play. "I wish you every happiness," Belle said. Then, she started to sing.

"Hold me close and hold me fast,  
"This magic spell you've cast,  
"This is _la vie en rose!_

"When you kiss me heaven sighs,  
"And though I close my eyes,  
"I see _la vie en rose!_

"When you press me to your heart,  
"I'm in a world apart,  
"A world where roses bloom.

"And when you speak angels sing from above,  
"Everyday words seem to turn into love songs.

"Give your heart and soul to me,  
"And life will always be  
" _La vie en rose!"_

Adam gazed at the woman he loved. She was happy, singing this song, and he knew how much it meant to her that her father had found someone he could be happy with as well. She looked directly at him as she began to sing the second version, and Adam could feel the meaning behind each line clear as day.

_"Quand il me prend dans ses bras,_  
"Il me parle tout bas,  
"Je vois la vie en rose! 

_"Il me dit des mots d'amour,_  
"Des mots de tous les jours,  
"Et ça me fait quelque chose. 

_"Il est entré dans mon cœur_  
"Une part de bonheur  
"Dont je connais la cause.  
"C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie,  
"Il me l'a dit, la juré pour la vie 

_"Et dès que je l'aperçois,_  
"Alors je sens en moi  
"Mon cœur qui bat!" 

Yes, her meaning was clear as day, Adam thought. As Belle was applauded by the wedding guests, and Chip ran up to give her a hug, and Mr. and Mrs. Cobbs kissed her fondly, Adam went up to her himself. She grinned at him as he leaned in so he could whisper into her ear.

"I love you, Belle."

"I love you too, Adam."

Hand in hand, they settled back down on the sofa. They'd been through death, love, joy, flirting, bookshops, arguments, pink hairdryers, disastrous ceilidhs, awkward phone calls, French and English books of literary merit, and what was, quite frankly, a really weird will. But they had each other. And really, that was all that mattered.

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net between 23/10/2013 and 7/04/2015


End file.
